When Zucchini Attacks
by Jennaya
Summary: Atrocities happen on both sides in war, some accidental, others cruelly carried out. It's not always easy to determine who is committing these atrocities. In those times, all you can do is turn to a friend. Friendship, H/C. Very minor character death. Complete
1. Man down

**When Zucchini Attacks**

**By**

**Jennaya**

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><p>Disclaimer:<p>

All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of CBS and Ryscher Entertainment. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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><p>Kinch stood slowly turning the exterior periscope clockwise studying the area around the tree stump entrance. The afternoon was half over, bored stiff and looking for something to do; he continued to turn the instrument, while contemplating a way to make the field of vision wider.<p>

"Anything interestin'?" Newkirk asked, as he and LeBeau walked up beside the radioman.

"Nope. Not even a single guard patrolling outside the wire," Kinch brought the periscope to a halt looking at his friends.

"We need to make this thing longer so anyone can use it," LeBeau grumbled, as he watched the taller man move it with ease.

"I think it's a pretty good height," Kinch smirked, looking back into the periscope's eyepiece turning it towards the woods. Suddenly he stopped, his body language becoming alert and tense. "_Holy crap!_"

"What?" both Newkirk and LeBeau asked simultaneously, fear in their voices with a dozen different possible dreadful scenarios filling their heads.

"Olsen's seriously hurt," Kinch said dropping the scope running to the exterior ladder with Newkirk on his heels. He opened the lid climbing out of the tree trunk staying low. Although he knew no guards were outside the wire, he didn't want to draw the attention of the tower guards.

Olsen crawled towards the tree trunk cradling his left arm, so focused on his goal that he didn't see his buddies until they appeared at his side. He looked up at Kinch, shock, pain, horror, disbelief written on his face.

"What happened?" Kinch asked as he knelt by the injured man. Olsen didn't respond, instead collapsing into Kinch's arms.

Sharing a worried look, both men picked up the sergeant carrying him to the tunnel entrance. The Englander opened the hatch to see three equally concerned faces looking up. "Careful with his arm," Newkirk said passing the unconscious man below, then climbing inside with Kinch seconds behind him. Hogan and Carter carried Olsen to the cot in the radio room laying him down gently, trying to bring him around.

LeBeau stood back, the massive amount of blood covering Olsen's clothes nearly overwhelming him. The taste of sour vomit came up his throat as black splotches played havoc with his field of vision. "I'll…get Wilson," he took off in a run before embarrassing himself by fainting.

"Did he say anything?" Hogan demanded removing the German civilian coat and shirt to get a better look at the injuries.

"Nothing, sir," Kinch replied helping Hogan remove the clothing.

"How could this have happened? He left not three hours ago," Carter was bewildered, eyes wide in shock. He grabbed a blanket to cover Olsen who was shivering.

Moments later, Sergeant Joe Wilson came running down the tunnel. "LeBeau said Olsen had been shot?"

"Not sure what happened," Hogan moved allowing the medic to examine his patient.

Wilson's trained eye didn't see a bullet wound, he felt for a pulse, finding it fast and thready; his skin cold and clammy. "He's lost too much blood. I need blood donors immediately!"

"He gave me blood a few months ago," Hogan stated rolling up his sleeve.

"You're not a match for him. Olsen can give blood to anyone, but can only take his type, O negative. LeBeau, can you round up my special group of donors and tell them what we need?" Wilson asked never removing his eyes from his patient.

"Carter, help him," Hogan ordered as the men left to accomplish their task. "What can we do?"

"I don't understand," Wilson mumbled continuing his exam not answering the question posed. The only visible injury was to Olsen's left arm, which looked like it had been cauterized, three hundred and sixty degrees around the upper forearm about two inches below the elbow. The blood splatter on the clothes indicated all the blood came from the single injury. "Sir, I have no idea what would cause this wound or how to treat him. It doesn't make sense. We need Doctor Prust's help, and now.* If Olsen's going to live, we can't wait to smuggle him in after dark."

Hogan let out a deep breath, running his hand through his dark hair. Klink would have to be convinced to get help but not to send Olsen to the hospital, a tricky balance to pull off. Plus the Kommandant was in a foul mood today. With no idea how or where the injury had occurred, if his downed man showed up in a hospital, it could put the entire operation at danger; a risk Hogan couldn't take.

Just then, Carter showed up with four men in tow. "LeBeau is rounding up the others." Instantly, Private Mason** rolled up his sleeve sitting down next to Olsen as Newkirk started the blood donor process.

"Keep him connected for fifteen minutes," Wilson started.

"I can do more," Mason interrupted, determined to do help any way possible.

"No. Fifteen minutes, then he'll need to rest for a few minutes before the move upstairs, at which time we'll hook someone else up. But we may need you later," Wilson smiled at the youngest private in camp.

"Once we get him topside, I'll go talk to Klink. Kinch, get on the radio and explain to Prust what we need. If you can't reach him, contact Bluebird***. In fact, contact Bluebird anyway, and see if he knows what might have happened," Hogan ordered pacing through the small room. His fear for Olsen evident, but he had an entire camp to worry about. Depending on the circumstances, an emergency evacuation might be warranted.

"Sir, I might be able to help with an explanation of the injury to Klink," Wilson said. Hogan stopped pacing raising an eyebrow. "When LeBeau found me, I was at the woodpile. There had been an accident with several minor injuries. Part of the stack became unstable and fell on four men. Nothing major, bruises, a couple of sprains, but Sergeant McMahon had been hit in the face and had a nosebleed, so there's blood on the ground. We could say that Olsen was under that pileup and became injured there."

"Why am I just hearing about this? Who is taking care of the men above?" Hogan demanded looking at the men gathered around.

"I assumed you were down here with Olsen when it occurred. Sergeant Anderson has things under control," Wilson said, confident in his most experienced senior medic's ability to handle all the injuries.

Hogan watched Olsen for a moment, his chest rising slowly and too shallow for his liking. With nothing more that he could do down here, he needed to put in an appearance at the woodpile ensuring the men were treated appropriately. He had no doubt in Anderson's abilities, but he had a duty to show up anytime his men were hurt. "Move him into my quarters as quickly as possible, and come get me. I'll be at the woodpile, or the infirmary depending where the men are," Hogan ordered leaving the radio room.

He climbed up the ladder to the hut, and after the hidden entrance was secured, exited through the front door. Quickly walking through the compound, he came to a sudden stop at the fenced in area that held the wood stacks, shocked at how much had fallen.

"Herr Colonel, it wasn't anyone's fault. It was an accident, although I'm not sure what caused it. But the men will be okay," Corporal Langenscheidt said quickly, picking up a piece of wood.

"Does Klink know?" Hogan asked looking around at the sight. How serious injuries had been avoided he wasn't sure. A few men where restacking the wood to a lower height than previously used.

"Nein. I…I mean I sent someone over there, but the Kommandant was on the phone with General Burkhalter and wouldn't let the guard in. I'm on my way now…I wanted to make sure the men were taken care of first," Langenscheidt feared he would get in trouble because he was in charge of the wood stacks.

"That was good thinking. I want to check on the men in the infirmary, and then we can go tell the Kommandant together," Hogan said. The Colonel gave orders to the men cleaning up to be careful, and thanked them for pitching in without being asked. Afterwards, he made his way to the infirmary with Langenscheidt in tow. Four men were scattered around the small building with two medics tending to them. Sergeant McMahon laid on a bed with an icepack on his face.**** Two corporals had icepacks on their arms; a private was having his ankle wrapped by the junior medic.

"How is everyone in here?" Hogan asked walking up to Anderson.

"Minor injuries only. A few days, and everyone will be back to normal," the medic said, quietly adding. "Sir, how is Olsen?"

Before answering, Hogan and Anderson moved away from the guard. "He's in bad shape." In hushed tones, he quickly explained the plan. Anderson nodded his head understanding his part, then loud enough for the German guard to hear, asked the same question.

"What happened to Sergeant Olsen?" Langenscheidt asked, moving over near the Colonel and medic.

"He was also injured when the wood tumbled down, but he was taken to Barracks Two for privacy because of his injuries," Anderson said.

"Olsen wasn't there," Langenscheidt looked confused.

"He was on the bottom of the fallen wood, you might have missed him," Hogan turned the charm on. The guard shook his head no.

"Of course he was. He was below me in the pileup and softened my landing," Sergeant McMahon said sitting up. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but Wilson had been working on him when LeBeau had come to get the medic. Every man in the infirmary made a comment, positive that they'd all seen Olsen get hurt there.

Langenscheidt swallowed hard looking around with enlarged eyes. Why did Schultz have to be out of camp getting supplies when something of this magnitude occurred? The head guard always knew what to do when Colonel Hogan was pulling one of his ruses. He looked over at the Colonel, who was giving him a look that said he should agree. Langenscheidt felt his mouth go dry. What should he do? Tell the Kommandant the truth, or let Hogan have his way? He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he made his decision to follow Schultz's advice, when Colonel Hogan was involved in something. "I must have missed him in the confusion. Will he be all right?"

"He's seriously wounded, so I need to speak with Klink about getting him some help," Hogan answered nodding his head approvingly at the younger man.

Behind him, Baker entered the infirmary. "Sir, Wilson is asking what the Kommandant is going to do."

"We're on our way to find out now. Tell Wilson that I'll let him know in a few minutes," Hogan ordered, understanding the code that everything was ready in Barracks Two.

Langenscheidt followed Hogan over to the Kommandantur wordlessly. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know how Olsen became injured. He liked the Sergeant, and hoped the Kommandant would get him some help, and this didn't come back to haunt him.

Grumbling, Klink pulled paperwork out of the file cabinet in the outer office when the men entered the building. He nearly groaned when the American walked in. "Hogan, I don't care what it is; it has to wait until I finish this report for the General."

"Sir, I need to talk to you about an incident," Hogan started only to be cutoff by Klink.

"I said it has to wait! Langenscheidt, take Colonel Hogan back to his barracks and make sure he stays there," Klink ordered. Without allowing Hogan to utter another word, Klink slammed the inner office door in the American's face.

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><p>* Thank you ColHogan for allowing Doctor Prust to make a house call.<p>

**Mason is the sixteen year old from my story _Yesterday's Memories_.

***Bluebird aka, Captain Fritz Fuchs, is Major Hochstetter's second-in-command and a valued underground agent. He's in several of my stories including _Shades of Family_.

**** Sergeant McMahon is from the episode _What Time Does the Balloon Go Up_


	2. Help Arrives

A/N: The title of the story will become clear as the story unfolds. One person thought maybe LeBeau was going to poison the culprits, good guess, but sorry that's not it.

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><p>Hogan and Langenscheidt looked at each other in surprise at Klink's slamming of the door. Hogan grabbed the door handle so hard that it nearly broke as he barged into Klink's office without knocking. "Colonel Klink, there's been an accident resulting in several injuries."<p>

Klink stood up from his desk, face red with anger, pointing his arm straight out, "Get ou…," he stopped in mid-word; realization sinking in on what Hogan had said. "What happened?" his body language changing instantly.

"An accident at the woodpile, nearly half of the wood fell. Several men are injured. Sergeant Olsen is seriously hurt, and he needs a doctor immediately," Hogan said.

"How do I know this isn't a tactic to get someone out of camp in an escape attempt?" Klink demanded. Olsen was chronically trying to escape.

"It's true, Herr Kommandant. I was there supervising when it happened. The men were stacking the wood the prisoners cut earlier this week. Without warning, the wood tumbled down upon them," Langenscheidt said.

"Where are they?"

"Four are in the infirmary and Sergeant Olsen is in our hut," Hogan answered following the Kommandant out of his office.

"Why is he in the barracks?" Klink asked as they made their way to Barracks Two.

"Due to the severity of his injuries, Wilson wanted him somewhere that wasn't as chaotic as the infirmary would be," Hogan lied, hoping Klink believed him. He really had no other card to play. Klink didn't respond as they entered the barracks. Several men were standing around in the main room obviously concerned for their fellow soldier. Hogan recognized three of the special blood donors, all with type O negative blood, including Private Mason.

"There are too many people in here," Klink said entering the building. "Unless you live here, leave." Nobody moved, instead all looked to Hogan for direction.

"You heard the Kommandant, clear the hut," Hogan ordered as he led Klink into his private quarters. He knew the blood donors would be right outside the door in case they were needed in a hurry.

Olsen lay on the lower bunk, his left arm wrapped in bandages with blood splatters showing through, still way too pale and his breathing too shallow for Hogan's liking.

"How did this happen?" Klink gasped as he took in the young man's condition. Olsen appeared to be at death's door.

"He was on the bottom of the pile of fallen wood with other men on top of him," Hogan explained.

"We'll take him to the hospital immediately," Klink declared then turned towards Langenscheidt to give his orders. "No, sir!" he heard then looked back to the medic questioningly.

"He's too critical. Moving him will kill him. He's lost too much blood and a ride into town would be more than he could handle. A doctor coming out here would be best, sir. Please," Wilson implored.

"All right, I'll contact Doctor Möller and ask him to come out," Klink said. He was worried enough about losing the prisoner, and didn't want to do anything that might aid in his demise.

"Sir, Doctor Möller is sometimes rough with the men. I think he's a little afraid to be in camp," Wilson reminded him.

Klink remembered how the doctor had seemed less than compassionate on the few times he'd come to camp. Sometimes he'd even refused to come out.

"What about the doctor who came out a few months ago, do you remember his name? He was really good and didn't seem to mind working out here," Hogan asked leading Klink down the intended path.

"I believe his name was Doctor Prust, and he was very good with the men," Wilson said.

"Very well, I'll try to reach Doctor Prust, but if I can't then it'll have to be Doctor Möller. I want to see where this happened and the rest of the injured so I can give the doctor all the information he needs." They left the hut, going directly to the infirmary. The four patients were still being treated and the Kommandant took a moment to check on their conditions. Klink winced at the bruise forming on and around Sergeant McMahon's nose and cheek. Next, they inspected the woodpile where an impressively large amount of blood had appeared on the ground. Hogan would find out who was responsible later, but he thought it was a good move.

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><p>An hour later, Doctor Michael Prust drove into Stalag 13 with a trunk full of medical supplies glad Kinch had warned him what to expect. He pulled up in front of the Kommandantur, where Klink came out to meet him. The Colonel ordered the guard to take the box over for the doctor and to remain with him at all times.<p>

"Please place the supplies on the table and you can wait outside, Corporal," Prust ordered as they entered the hut.

"But…the…Kommandant ordered me to stay with you," Langenscheidt stuttered, looking from Prust to Hogan quickly recognizing this wasn't a battle he was going to win. "I'll be right outside if you need anything."

"So, Robert what happened?" Prust asked as soon as the door closed.

"We don't know. Olsen left on a normal recon mission and about three hours later he barely made it back to camp," Hogan led him to the small room so the doctor could start his exam.

Prust ordered everyone except Wilson out of the room and closed the door. Sometime later, both men came out of the room looking grim. "He's in rough shape. I might have an idea of what happened to him. And for several reasons, it's vital that Klink continues to think this happened in camp."

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked as Prust and Wilson took a seat at the table. LeBeau handed each a cup of coffee.

"About three weeks ago, I saw the first case of what I believe is medical experimentation on the general population. I have no idea who is behind the atrocities. Men and women have been taken with no discrimination in age or occupation. Bluebird even had a man disappear out of his patrol, whom they searched for with no luck. Nearly six hours later they found the man, dead, near the area he'd disappeared. Bluebird swore that he'd personally searched the area three times where the man was found," Prust explained taking a drink from his cup.

"What happened to him?" Carter asked.

"They brought him to the hospital, where I performed an autopsy. Or at least I started to," Prust stopped, his eyes cast downward, after a moment he continued. "The first thing I noticed as I opened him up was something had happened to his blood. It was no longer liquid but more the consistency of sand. Nothing in nature can do that to a man; obviously, I was dealing with the aftermath of some type of vile experiment. Out of concern of unleashing an unknown toxin, I had the body cremated. He was the third. I believe Olsen is the eighth," Prust looked across the table at Hogan.

"Mon Dieu! Who would do such a thing?" LeBeau gasped, his hand covering his mouth.

"What have you been able to find out?" Hogan asked, deep concern showing in his eyes.

"Not much. Bluebird has been looking into it, but even he and Hochstetter have come up empty handed. Shortly after the fourth victim, Hochstetter ordered that all the bodies and any future ones be burned. He said the orders came directly from Berlin." With a pained look, he asked, "Do you realize what it would mean if they perfected whatever turned that man's blood to sand? If it could be made into an airborne agent, put in a bomb, then dropped on enemy soldiers in the battlefield, within an hour, ever man would be dead without a single shot fired. Hitler would be unstoppable."

Hogan ran a hand over his face taking in a deep breath; he understood exactly what it meant. "Such a chemical would change the face of the war."

"That's why it's vital Klink doesn't connect Olsen with the others. How did you convince him what happened?"

"An unrelated accident in camp occurred about the same time, so it didn't take much to tie the two together," Hogan filled him in on the other injured men. "Speaking of the woodpile accident, where did all the extra blood come from on the ground?"

"Oh, I added pig's blood from the kitchen. Only a few drops of blood from Steven's nosebleed showed, and since we had to ensure Klink believed Olsen's cover story I took care of it," LeBeau explained.

"Good job," Hogan gave him a nod of approval.

"Which begs the question. Why do you faint when you see human blood, but you can be around animal blood in the kitchen?" Newkirk asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't bother me, just a part of being a chef," LeBeau shrugged his shoulders.

"I believe it means he has a tender heart," Prust said.

"I agree," Newkirk answered with a gentle smile then he turned serious again. "Gov'nor, Olsen must have left a blood trail that might lead someone to the tunnels. What should we do about it?"

"At guard change, have some men from another barracks to put on Luftwaffe uniforms and go outside the wire to take care of anything they find," Hogan ordered.

"What about the survivors of the experiments, have any been able to say what happened?" Kinch asked.

"So far, no one has lived more than a few hours, which for them was merciful. None of them regained consciousness. What happened to those people has been some of the most horrid, inhuman experiments," Prust said with a grim look.

"What about Olsen?" Hogan asked with a lump in his throat.

"I don't have a good answer," Prust didn't believe in holding anything back, but these men held a special place in his heart and he wanted to protect them.

"Non! You can't be saying he's going to die!" LeBeau jumped up from the table.

"He's young, strong, and his injuries are not as severe as the others. Only time will tell; it's up to him at this point," Prust answered gently.

"You must to do something. You can't let him die!" LeBeau demanded, distraught over the possibility of losing a friend.

"LeBeau," Hogan gave the Frenchman a warning look even though he was feeling the same emotions. Then, he looked at the doctor. "What are his chances, Michael? Is there anything that would improve those odds?"

"The next twelve hours will tell. We will do everything humanly possible to save him. Even if I took him to the hospital, I don't think it would help. Being here with friends is the best for him. I'll stay in camp until he improves enough for Wilson to be able to handle his injuries," the doctor said.

"I'm going to sit with him," LeBeau declared.

"I think that would be good," Hogan smiled as LeBeau moved to the other room.

"I should update Klink, and explain to him that I will be staying in camp," Prust stood up.

"I'll go with you." Once they were out of hearing range of the men, Hogan asked again. "What are his chances?"

"Right now, I'd say twenty-five to thirty percent. If he makes it through the night, maybe fifty-fifty," Prust responded walking slowly.

Hogan stopped walking and faced his friend, "You don't expect him to make it?"

"No. I'm sorry, but I don't."

Hogan shook his head at the sobering thought. To lose a man so needlessly was a lot to absorb. Anger filled his veins, whoever was responsible for the experiments had to be stopped, before they developed a weapon, which could wipe out an entire army from the sky. Things were worse than he feared when Olsen made it back to camp. He'd have to find out about this new weapon, without any more of his men becoming targets of the Nazis in charge of the experiments. But then another sobering thought occurred to him. If the Gestapo couldn't find out who was responsible, what chance did he have?


	3. Friendship

LeBeau moved the hard wood chair next to the bunk sitting as close to Olsen as possible. His friend's colour had improved a touch with the donors' blood and fluids Doctor Prust had brought, but he lay too still his breathing still shallow. He wished Olsen would open his eyes and tell them what happened. Protective of those he cared about, it always bothered him when Olsen went out on solitary assignments, but that was his job being designated the Outside Man. Olsen would bring back information on troop movements, what the Germans were up too, and other tidbits which would aid the Allies in their fight. However, when Olsen got around to his exploits with the fairer sex, LeBeau would lend an eager ear. Living vicariously through Olsen's experiences, he'd imagine himself dancing with the woman while holding her in his arms. On more than one occasion, he begged Colonel Hogan to allow him to go out with Olsen only to be always told no; the Outside Man was a solo gig. Olsen would shrug his shoulders and say 'maybe next time, buddy', then full of life take off to complete his assignment.

Olsen hadn't always been full of life. When he first arrived at camp, he was barely alive. He'd spent over two months in Gestapo hell, before landing in Stalag 13. He was so thin; LeBeau didn't believe he'd eaten in those two months. Schultz took pity on the young man and bunked him in Barracks Two in hopes that LeBeau would get some food into him. For the first few days, all the Frenchman could get down Olsen was broth, but then that's all his system could handle. Still too weak to stand in roll call, LeBeau tried to give Olsen a cup of coffee with cream. Olsen took a couple of sips and handed the cup back remarking that he wished he could get a glass of milk. LeBeau's mind went into plotting mode. The Kommandant had fresh milk delivered daily but the prisoners seldom got any. Since this was in the days before Colonel Hogan arrived, they had no one to fight for them. The highest-ranking sergeant tried, but he was no Colonel Hogan. LeBeau brazenly marched into Klink's office that morning asking if he'd be allowed to prepare lunch for the Oberst. Convincing Klink he was a chef and wasn't trying to poison him, LeBeau was given a trial run at lunch. Klink fell in love with LeBeau's cooking, and they struck up a bargain. LeBeau would fix the Kommandant's lunch daily in exchange for a glass of milk for Olsen. He'd originally asked for two glasses but Klink would only consent to one. However, LeBeau always managed to get two glasses a day to Olsen, who quickly began to recover. Within a fortnight, he was strong enough to stand at roll call. Those first few weeks cemented their friendship for life. Colonel Hogan arrived shortly thereafter, and the operation started with each man finding his place.

Olsen moaned moving around a little with his bandaged arm coming out from under the blankets. LeBeau looked up, concerned and unsure what to do; placing his hand on Olsen's good shoulder he spoke in a calming tone, "Brian, it's okay, you're safe. You're in the barracks, you're safe. It's okay, I'm here, calm down mon ami." Olsen quieted down at the sound of LeBeau's voice, causing LeBeau let out a sigh of relief. He watched the sleeping man's face still twisted in pain. "I have no idea what they did to you mon ami, but you're safe here with me. They're gone and no one is going to hurt you anymore." Slowly the torturous look started to fade and his sleep turned a bit more restful. After a few moments, LeBeau removed his hand from the shoulder and glanced at the bandaged arm which had strategically placed drops of blood on the bandage. He knew it wasn't Olsen's blood, but Mason's from the blood transfer positioned for Klink's benefit. He looked away from the blood, watching Olsen's face, wishing his friend could truly rest peacefully. Shaking his head wondering what happened to Olsen out there today. What could have caused the injury to his arm? Did he get his arm caught in something? Or perhaps someone put something around his arm? But even that didn't make sense with the way the arm had been cauterized. Had it been cauterized to stop the blood loss? How was it cauterized in a perfect circle? _Rien n'avait de sens!_ * From the condition of his friend, he knew whatever had happened; Olsen had been fully awake and experienced great pain. The anger he felt for whoever hurt his friend boiled his blood. He hoped that Olsen had been able to take out some of his attackers, since he left camp armed but didn't return with a weapon. Obviously the American had done something right to get away from his captors. Was it the Gestapo? Were they out there trying to find Olsen to finish the job? If they knew he was an American they would show up very soon, but somehow LeBeau doubted they'd learn the truth even under duress of torture. Olsen grew up in country and passed quite believably as a German national. Whatever had happened, LeBeau would be there to comfort and listen as Olsen told his story as many times as necessary for him to get through it, just as they'd both been there for the each other in the past. Olsen preferred to talk in the dark, so LeBeau would sit up every night with him for as long as it took. He refused to consider that his friend might die despite how bad it looked.

His eyes continuously drawn to the bandage, no matter how hard he tried to avoid the area, made LeBeau sick to his stomach. Glancing one more time to ensure Olsen was asleep; with care, he reached over to move the arm back under the blankets. As he touched the arm, Olsen screamed out in pain and began thrashing wildly in the bed. The Frenchman terrified that he'd pull the IV out of the good arm tried to hold Olsen down talking to him in a soothing voice. Nothing worked, so LeBeau yelled for help. Instantly, Wilson and half the barracks entered the small room.

"I tried to cover his arm up, and must have done something wrong," LeBeau was near panic.

"Hold him down," Wilson ordered as he prepared a syringe. Carter, Kinch, and Newkirk managed to help LeBeau pin Olsen down who continued to cry out in pain and panic. Wilson injected medication into the IV. Within seconds, Olsen's body went limp and the men were able to release their hold on him.

"I'm sorry," LeBeau muttered. "I…I…didn't mean."

"You didn't do anything wrong. He had the same reaction when we examined his arm. It seems to be causing him a lot of pain," Wilson reassured him.

"Can you give him more medicine?" Carter asked eyes wide with concern, pointing to Olsen's face etched in pain.

"No, he's at the maximum dose now. He'll be all right. No harm done. We just have to be careful with his arm," Wilson said rearranging the blankets to cover Olsen up. LeBeau sat down in the chair, his head in his hands. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I didn't mean to hurt him," LeBeau blinked away mist from his eyes.

"I don't think you did. Why don't you take a break? I'll sit with him for a while," Wilson suggested in a soothing medic voice. LeBeau nodded his head yes, taking a couple of deep breaths to steady his nerves. As he stood up, they heard an explosion come from outside the barracks.

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><p>Hogan stood in front of Prust, words failing him, with no idea of where to start searching for those culpable for the experiments. "Does Bluebird have any idea who's responsible?"<p>

"Nein. He did say something that has him stumped about the day his man went missing. Apparently, seconds prior to the man vanishing, they saw a bright light, but since it was nighttime they chalked it up to headlights on a truck. The interesting thing is they didn't hear a vehicle. He's been in contact with the SS and they're not conducting any type of experiments. There are no strangers in town. Berlin Gestapo is very interested and demanding regular updates. I've seen no new medical personnel, nor have any medical supplies gone missing. I'm at a loss," Prust said.

Hogan wrapped his arms around his body, "We've not heard about anyone new in town. I'll have Kinch get in contact with the underground and see what they might know. Whoever this is must have a base of operations, and they'll need supplies. Maybe Max** will be able to help. Everyone has to eat, and he has the best grocery store. Although, I'm sure Bluebird has already contacted him. I'll ask Max to reach out to the other grocers and see if perhaps they've had new customers. Based on what you've seen, how large of an operation do you think this would be?"

"I'd say at least five men and perhaps as many as eight. From what's been done to the people, I can't tell exactly what they're trying to accomplish. No experiment has been repeated twice, and some are so vile…I've had nightmares. Those poor people," Prust shook his head sadly. "There are rumors of experiments being conducted throughout the land, and although I had no first-hand knowledge until now, I'm appalled. This is utterly frightening. I'm terrified to leave Lisa and the kids alone. That is the one thing everyone has had in common; they were alone when abducted. I'd suggest anyone leaving camp until this is over goes in pairs and stays together."

"That's good information, thank you. I'll make sure they stay in groups. Would you tell me about the experiments?" Hogan asked watching the doctor closely.

Prust shook his head, "No, I don't think that would be a good idea. It's sufficient to say those responsible are not human. How any of these experiments make sense in any sick twisted way is beyond the imagination."

His friend's answers were not comforting Hogan. "Do you know how Olsen's injuries were caused?"

"I've been giving some thought to that, but as of yet don't have any type of answer. Hopefully he'll be able to tell us in a few days. Robert, if he survives, there will be a long journey ahead of him to heal, and I don't mean just his physical injuries. He may never be the same man again. He will need patience and support to recover as much as possible."

"We'll do the best we can for him. He has a lot of friends, and everyone will be there for him throughout his recovery. However, if it would be better for him, I'll send him to London."

"Let's take it one step at a time," Prust suggested.

* * *

><p>The reports half-finished sat on his desk, Klink tossed his pen down, no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't concentrate until he knew what would happen with the prisoner. Even Burkhalter's threat to transfer him to the Russian Front, wasn't enough motivation at this point. He looked up and saw Hogan and Prust standing near the water tower talking. Moving over to his window wishing he could hear their conversation. He looked around for Langenscheidt who was nowhere to be seen. Rolling his eyes, he wondered what made the guard believe it was all right to leave the doctor alone with the prisoners. He was positive Hogan had something to do with it. Klink knew Prust was in no danger as long as he was with Hogan, but he had a duty to ensure the doctor's safety. Langenscheidt could at least hang out close enough to fill Klink in on what the two men were discussing. Hogan's shoulders were slumped, which was never a good sign, so he decided he should go find out what was happening.<p>

"Doctor Prust, have you had an opportunity to examine the prisoner?" Klink asked walking up to the men.

"Ja, Herr Oberst. You were right to not move the Sergeant, his injuries are quite serious. I will stay and do everything possible. However, I'm not sure the young man will survive the night," Prust explained.

Klink gasped, at the unexpected and unwanted news. "Are you sure?"

"There are never any guarantees and he may surprise us yet. As I said, I will do everything possible to save his life. The best thing we can do is keep an eye on him, and continue to administer the medications I brought; the rest is up to him. His desire to live is strong and that might be the best medicine," Prust said.

"Hogan, I'm sorry. Thank you doctor for agreeing to stay. I'll have your belongings moved to the guest quarters, and a guard will be available to you constantly. For your safety, I must insist you're escorted through the compound. Is there anything more I can do?" Klink asked.

Before the doctor could answer, an explosion rang out behind the men.

* * *

><p>* Nothing made sense!<p>

** Max owns the grocery store in Guess Who Came to Dinner


	4. The Mystery Deepens

Corporal Friedrich Kohler* stood up from the mess hall table placing his dinner tray in the window. He had to get back out to the guard tower now that his break was over. Despite appearances, he isn't a professional soldier; instead, his life's passion is music, specifically the guitar. In better days, he and a group of friends had a band playing beer halls. They had one record produced, but then the war started and all were drafted. Everyone else had been sent to the Russian Front. He'd always wondered about his luck to draw the assignment at Stalag 13, but didn't ask questions of such gifts. The tedium of tower duty drew on as the hours dragged by, and he wished he could have his guitar up there to work on the song he was currently writing. Colonel Klink would send him to meet up with his buddies in the east if he did that, so instead, he carried a notebook to continue working on the song. When he got back to his barracks tonight, he'd try the new chords out, hopefully they sounded as good as he imagined.

Mittendoref** would be upset if he was late, so Kohler left the mess hall, walked out the front gate, then called up to the relief guard letting him know that he was climbing the tower. Corporal Rudolf Mittendoref, terrified of heights, barely managed to be in the towers for the brief relief periods he was required to be, waved him up; a full shift would never be a possibility for the Corporal. He'd been transferred here after his old unit couldn't even get him near an airplane due to his terror of heights. He was originally assigned to be a parachute jumper; everyone wondered how that had happened. The military didn't always make the wisest of choices. Kohler sighed as he climbed the ladder, only four more hours and he would be reunited with his guitar. Halfway up the ladder the tower shook violently. Kohler held on with all his strength terrified of falling, then the explosion came from the top of the tower. Once the shaking stopped, he climbed up the rest of the way. Mittendoref was nowhere to be seen, a portion of the tower had been blown off with the searchlight destroyed. People came running at the sound of the explosion; Kohler urgently called down telling them to look for Mittendoref on the ground. Afraid of the rest of the tower collapsing, he climbed down joining the search.

Mittendoref couldn't have fallen far from the tower, but after an exhaustive search, they were unable to find him. Klink sent more guards into the woods. Meanwhile, the prisoners were confined to the barracks with eyes peering out at every barracks window wondering what caused the explosion. Speculation would run wild until Colonel Hogan returned with an explanation. Every barracks chief went about his pre-evacuation duties just in case this was the real deal.

* * *

><p><strong>Two hours later<strong>

Klink marched into his office where Hogan and Prust awaited him, accusing the American. "Did you have something to do with this?"

"Why would we take out a tower? And how could we even gain access, it's outside the fence," Hogan retorted, as baffled as everyone else was. Softening his stance he asked, "What happened, sir?"

Klink tossed his hat on the desk, poured a glass of schnapps, downed it in one gulp, then poured another one, and then sat down at his desk fingering the drink.

"Do any of your men require medical attention?" Prust asked.

Klink ran a hand over his face, removing his monocle, cleaned it, and replaced it before answering. "A man is missing. Apparently, he fell from the tower and crawled away. We're still searching. A blood trail was found near some of the tree stumps leading out to the road, but the Corporal was nowhere around. I'd appreciate your help when he's found."

"Of course."

"What caused the explosion, sir?"

"The question of the hour. The searchlight exploded, but searchlights don't just explode," his eyes accusing Hogan again.

"Isn't that the new one installed a couple of days ago?"

Klink nodded his head.

"Must have been defective, sir. If we were going to take out a tower, both would have been demolished, and a full-scale evacuation would be happening," Hogan sat back in his chair.

"The ingenuity of your escape plots amazes me," Klink shook his head.

"Obviously not too much, as you stop us at every turn."

"And don't ever forget that!"

"Gentlemen, both of you have your jobs and responsibilities. However right now, there is a patient I need to check on," Prust stood up. "Herr Oberst, please let me know when you find your man."

"I will. Keep me informed on the prisoner's condition," Klink requested.

Hogan and Prust left the Kommandantur with the doctor's escort keeping a respectable distance behind the men, allowing them privacy. "Did you have something to do with the explosion?"

"No, and it didn't look like the searchlight was the cause to me, since the tower shook before it exploded. Can't figure out what caused it," Hogan answered. They stopped mid-compound looking at the tower. One side of the structure had the wall missing with char-marks.

"Could it have been shot out?"

"I doubt it. A bullet wouldn't have exploded the light. A Panzerfaust anti-tank rocket*** might have done similar damage, but then that would have taken down the entire structure. Without being able to get up there and inspect, I'd suspect an electrical issue," Hogan scrubbed both hands over his face. "This has been one weird day. It can only get better, right?"

"I hope so," Prust murmured as they made their way to the barracks. Once inside he entered Hogan's room asking about his patient.

Joe Wilson stood up from the chair where he'd been reading a book. "Holding on. Wouldn't call his sleep restful, but he's calmed down a great deal. "What happened out there?"

Everyone in the barracks echoed the same question to their commanding officer, listening intently as Hogan explained what he knew about the explosion and missing man.

"Gov'nor, so we don't need to send anyone out to cover up the blood trail?"

"No, and until further notice no one is to venture outside the wire alone. Everyone will be in pairs and I want them to stay together. The people picked off have all been loners, so no more than a couple of feet away from your partner at all times. Remember, they took someone out of a Gestapo patrol who was only out of sight of his buddies for a short time. These men are brazen and ruthless. We're on the defensive until they've been dealt with accordingly. Kinch and Baker get on the radio and make contact with everyone in the underground. Find out what they know and warn them. The rest of you, pass the word along in camp," Hogan ordered. The men scattered to complete their assignments. Hogan sat down at the common table as LeBeau handed him a cup of hot coffee, sitting where he could watch Olsen in his bunk.

* * *

><p>Olsen, sleeping a drugged induced sleep, fell in and out of confusing dreams. Where was he? How did he get here? Why was it so dark?<p>

888

Suddenly he was free falling downward, floating through the air into an endless dark ravine, his arms and legs swinging widely but there was nothing for his hands to grab. Terror filled him knowing he'd die on impact. Something tight constricted his breathing as his hands felt his chest, a parachute! He pulled the main ripcord, it failed, and he fell faster. Desperately he struggled to find the reserve cord and pulled with all his strength. The chute opened pulling him upright slowing his descent. The scene changed to luminous colors of yellows, purples, blues, browns swirled through the black air reminding him of Van Gogh's Starry Night painting. Stars twisted turning into vibrant colors as the wind blew them around as if they weighed no more than a child's balloon.

888

His feet made impact. The plane lurched to the right, losing his balance he fell backwards stunned to find himself in the Betty Blue, the B-17 plane, he flew in before being shot down, a lifetime ago. "You gonna shoot those bastards Olsen?" Someone yelled. He looked up to see the navigator cursing the Germans. "Yes, Sarge!" He got to his feet, took the machine gun in his hands pointing it at the enemy plane making a run for them. The gun danced in his hands as he fired, round after round leaving the gun, flying through the air making contact with their intended target.

"Yahoo! Splash one Nazi Messerschmitt," Bob, another gunner, yelled.

Bob? Olsen's head jerked sideways to see his best friend. He never knew what happened to Bob once their plane was hit and they bailed out. Everything had happened so fast in the moments after the Betty Blue had been hit and took a nosedive with the pilot dead. The navigator pushed Olsen out first trying to save all the men that he didn't even know if Bob made it out of the plane alive. Captured almost as soon as his feet hit German soil, he never saw anyone from his crew again.

Bob, whooping and hollering as another Messerschmitt fell from the sky, his red hair dancing in the dim light drew Olsen out of the memory and back to the present dream. Olsen grinned watching him. Without warning, a twenty-millimeter Messerschmitt bullet tore a hole in the side of the plane and through Bob's chest. Bob looked down at the hole in his chest then back at Olsen. "NO!" he screamed, "That's not what happened." Blood poured down Bob like someone had dumped a pail of the red stuff over his head. Olsen tried to help his friend, but instead was pushed out of the plane pulling his chute open seconds later landing on soft ground.

888

The ground moved under him, he jumped up to find it covered in thousands of black and silver crickets. Small ones chirping so loudly the noise nearly deafened him. The crickets coalesced, forming larger and larger crickets, no longer an inch long, instead ten feet tall. A cricket grabbed him, rolling him up into a ball tossing him like a bowling ball. Another cricket stopped him turning him around tossing Olsen back to his friend as if he were a softball. A Cricket team formed out of the crickets wearing the English players' traditional uniform, and eleven ten-feet tall crickets laughed at him as they pulled out bats. One of them picked Olsen up rolling him back into a ball tossing him towards the batsman. Whoop! He was hit finding himself flying through the air.

888

He landed on his feet, having jumped from the highest reachable branch in the largest tree in his backyard. He stayed in a crouched position confused to find himself stuck inside a ten-year old's body.

"Brian Mitchel Olsen, how many times have I told you not to jump from that branch? When you break a leg, don't come crying to me, young man," his mother scolded walking over with her hands on her hips and a cross look on her face. She wore her favorite summer dress with a yellow apron tied around it.

"Mom?" his face twisted up in tears and confusion. He swung his young arms around her mid-section holding tight nearly cutting off her ability to breath. His eyes closed as he buried his head into her apron, still seeing Bob's shocked blood covered face. His body shaking with fear and adrenaline feeling the hit of the batter in the cricket game, as her arms encircled him in warmth and love that only a mother's embrace could impart. Weeping uncontrollably, he tightened his hold on his mother, her arms instinctively holding him closer, soothing him as she protected her child.

"Here, let me have a look at you," she pulled his arms from around her body as his sobs diminished. "Did you get hurt?" Her voice was soft and anxious while she examined her middle son. "Nothing is broken. I think you just got scared," she smiled lovingly at him kneeling at his level. Olsen put his arms around her neck burying his face into her shoulder still shaking. "It's all right, baby. You're safe. Momma's right here," she rubbed his back in soothing circles holding him so tight in her warm arms breathing became difficult.

* * *

><p>The Sergeant opened his eyes to see LeBeau smiling down at him, a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome back, you're safe and in the barracks. That must've been some dream."<p>

Gasping for breath, Olsen couldn't answer, he sat up slightly only to fall backwards as he quit breathing.

* * *

><p>* Corporal Kohler was the guard who captured Crittenden in Hogan's Trucking Service We Deliver The Factory to You<p>

** Corporal Mittendoref – That's No Lady, That's My Spy. We never see the Corporal, but Schultz refers to him having a pin up of Oscar Danzing.

*** Panzerfaust anti-tank rocket – German version of the Bazooka or early models of today's RPG.


	5. A Soldier's Death

Schultz sat enjoying his beer at the Sergeants' mess hall in the supply depot. He'd gotten everything on the Kommandant's list, but more importantly, everything on LeBeau's list too. Plus he'd bartered a few comfort items for himself. It had been a successful day and he wanted to have a drink before heading back to Stalag 13.

Something kept nagging at him to get back, but why could they not get along without him for an afternoon? Nothing ever happened during the day unless Colonel Hogan was up to something. Most of the activity occurred overnight and spilt into the next few days. Fortunately, it had been quiet this week, and he knew no monkey business had been carried out last night. Olsen took off in the veterinarian's truck this morning, a normal occurrence. Olsen, the camp's enigma, always polite, quiet, a genuinely nice man, but Schultz recognized he had a serious joking streak in him. Sometimes practical jokes popped up all over camp, but no one seemed to realize Olsen was the culprit or that the jokes died down when he was out of camp. Schultz enjoyed watching him carry out the gags and a few times offered help. Six months ago, Olsen came to the head guard with an opportunity to get Colonel Hogan and Colonel Klink; tricking both Colonels simultaneously was too stimulating of an offer to pass up. Olsen had been stuck inside the camp for nearly three months, so he had lots of pent up energy, and Colonel Hogan had refused to let him leave. They pulled off their plot, watching and laughing as the Colonels found their hands stuck to the chairs in Klink's office. Neither officer was amused as they had to be helped out of their predicament. The next morning in roll call, Hogan gave Schultz a long hard stare, but never said a word to him. Two days later, Olsen left camp for a three-week stint. Schultz had been positive his co-conspirator was avoiding Colonel Hogan and that's why he stayed out so long. Colonel Klink never discovered who pulled the prank. Many times, he wondered what Olsen did while outside the wire. When the other men left camp for monkey business, the activities were sabotage or some type of espionage, which usually brought the Gestapo around. However, when Olsen left camp none of that seemed to happen. He was typically gone for a week or two at a time, sometimes as many as four weeks. Those trips made Schultz anxious something might have happened to the American. Colonel Hogan would calm his nerves, promising Olsen was fine, and he would return within a few days; the Colonel was always correct. Schultz understood they had radio contact with Olsen, but he could never get an explanation as to what Olsen was up too. Most of the stories Colonel Hogan told him were fabrications, but he'd learned the pattern well enough to deduce what happened. Add that to whatever was going on in town, and he kept a close eye on the activities of his 'jolly jokers'. Schultz wondered if Olsen had a serious Fraulein he entertained while outside the wire, or was he seeing several, because he was typically carefree and calm when returning to camp with that look of a satisfied man. He envisioned the American having the most active sex life in camp, even better than Colonel Hogan does. For prisoners, Barracks Two occupants did better than most of the guards whose wives and girlfriends lived in other parts of the country.

The one thing he never seemed to need to worry about with Olsen was mysterious injuries. Schultz wished Olsen could teach that trick to the rest of barracks two. His 'boys' were always getting injured, being too close to bridges blowing up, stray bullets, tunnels collapsing, and other mischief he didn't want to consider as he shuddered. Olsen had once been seriously injured back in the very beginning of the operations.* He'd occasionally have a sprain or bruise, but nothing like the others in the barracks experienced.

Schultz sighed finishing his beer, knowing a second one wasn't something he could afford to indulge in. So he paid his bar-tab, telling the others goodbye. He climbed into his truck, checked the gas level and mirrors, and ensured the bribes for the checkpoint guards were easily obtainable before pulling out of the compound. Without any trouble, he'd be back at camp in two hours; but that nagging feeling in the back of his mind made him push the trip a little faster.

* * *

><p>An hour after LeBeau had been shoved out of the Colonel's room, Doctor Prust and Wilson exited looking weary and were greeted by a room full of anxious faces. "How is he?" they heard, unsure how many men asked the question simultaneously.<p>

"He's still with us, and fighting hard to remain here, but he's very weak. I wish I had better news, but I'm afraid he won't make it through the night," Prust said as gently as possible.

"Sure he will! He has to," Carter yelled with angry tears.

"I really hope so," Prust voice was compassionate.

"Is there anything more we can do?" Hogan asked, sharing a worried look with the doctor.

"Nein. He needs to rest. I will allow one person at a time to sit with him. However, they can't touch his left side," Prust sat down at the table.

Carter jumped up from his bunk and went in the room with Olsen quietly closing the door. He stood at the door watching his friend for an indeterminate amount of time before moving trying to keep the tears at bay, then sat the chair down close to the bunk making sure to not bump the bed. "You're going to be all right, the doctor said so. In a couple of days, you'll be up and back to yourself," he said softly. He thought back to the first time he met Olsen. He'd escaped from another stalag, made his way across Germany to here, surprised when Olsen tripped over him at the rendezvous spot. Then without explanation, Olsen told him to stay there and wait for the dogs. When the dogs arrived early he chastised them, shocking Carter that they obeyed the Sergeant's commands. He wasn't sure what he was getting into, and thought about running away, until the spotlight hit him making him feel trapped.

He didn't see Olsen until they switched places again when he left camp on his way to the submarine. Boy did he surprise Olsen when he showed up two days later in the same spot. While Carter wondered how to get back inside without being captured, Olsen nearly tripped over him again, going back into camp. His clothing soaked and shivering, Carter was succumbing to a raging fever. Olsen took one look at the lieutenant before pulling him into the emergency entrance. The next thing Carter knew was waking up warm, tucked into a cot in the tunnel with Olsen sitting next to him.

"Welcome back Lieutenant, you've had us worried for a few days," Olsen said, with his trademark gentle smile.

"Sorry," Carter looked around getting his bearings.

"Looks like you met with trouble crossing the _Fränkische Saale**_."

"Yeah, got caught in a rough current, lost my papers and money. How did you know?"

"You're not the first. Did it myself once. Told the Colonel we have to come up with a better way around to avoid that river crossing. My next trip outside that's my mission."

"Is the Colonel upset I came back?"

"Nope. He's grateful you're going to be all right." True to his word, the next time Olsen came back to camp he had a new route for escapees to take. It added four hours to the trip, but avoided the dangerous river currents.

* * *

><p>Schultz had left the supply depot three hours ago. The first checkpoint they waved him through; but at the second, a convoy held up the line. With his nagging feeling growing worse, he used both Red Cross boxes to bribe his way to the front of the line instead of waiting behind the convoy. Now he was a half mile from camp and ready to get out of this truck; suddenly something on the road caught his attention causing him to slow down. Nearly upon it, he realized the object was a man in Luftwaffe uniform. Slamming on the brakes, he got out of the truck running over to the man, gently turning him over discovering Corporal Mittendoref barely alive gasping for breath. He looked like he'd been attacked with blood covering the front of his uniform. Schultz looked around ensuring their safety before turning back to his injured man. For a moment, he considered leaving him there and going for help, afraid moving the Corporal might make his injuries worse. But not knowing what happened, the best thing would be to get Mittendoref to safety. Since the guard was about LeBeau's size, Schultz picked him up as gently as possible moving him into the truck. Driving the last stretch as fast as he dared, Schultz laid on the horn as the front gate came into view, yelling out the window for the guards to open up. He pulled the truck up directly in front of the guards' infirmary.<p>

"Mittendoref has been injured!" he yelled climbing out of the driver's seat. Two men came running with a stretcher, as Langenscheidt took off in a fast sprint to Barracks Two after the doctor. Klink and Prust arrived to the small building at the same time.

The doctor immediately examined his patient, then lowered his head before speaking. "He's gone. I'm sorry."

Klink went pale, opening then closing his mouth, nodding his head. This wasn't the first man he'd lost in his career, but never one that looked as bad as his Corporal did. He wished Hogan was here because he would understand how Klink felt as a commander. Unsure whether the guards were keeping the American out, or he was allowing the Germans privacy with their downed man, as Klink allowed privacy for the downed prisoner. It really didn't matter right now.

"Are you _sure_?" Schultz asked, shaking.

Prust nodded his head, "I'm sorry for your loss. Are you injured, Herr Sergeant?"

Schultz looked down noticing how much of Mittendoref's blood transferred to his uniform when he carried him to the truck. "Nein," he took a shaky step towards his friend's body, tears unashamedly trickled down his face.

"Kommandant, I know your men will want to say goodbye to their friend. Allow me to prepare the body so it can be done with dignity," Prust asked.

"Very well. Langenscheidt, would you help Schultz get cleaned up? Afterwards, both of you come to my office," Klink ordered. The two guards left as Klink cleared everyone else from the building.

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me?" Hogan asked as he and Wilson entered the guard's infirmary a few minutes later.<p>

"Thought you might want to know what really happened to the guard," Prust said indicating for them to close the door.

Hogan stood across the table from the doctor next Mittendoref's head. The young man's face had a similar look of horror etched into it as Olsen's did when brought into the tunnels. His stomach knotted, half-afraid of what the doctor was going to reveal.

"Are his injures consistent with an explosion and fall?" Wilson asked standing next to the doctor after ensuring their privacy.

"Not all of them," Prust hesitated.

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked.

"I don't understand how, but this man is definitely the ninth victim," he said pulling back the sheet exposing the cut open chest. "His left lung has been removed."

Hogan turned away from the table, grabbed a trashcan, dropping to his knees, promptly lost the contents of his stomach. Between the look on the dead man's face, and what had been done to him, was too much for the Colonel to handle. He knew that the men who did this had to be wearing Luftwaffe uniforms to blend in with the search party, and were most likely searching for Olsen when they came across the guard. Mittendoref became an easy target to replace his man. If Olsen hadn't escaped, was this the fate awaiting him? These men were more diabolical and dangerous than he'd first suspected. If they'd tracked Olsen to camp, had they discovered the tunnel system?

* * *

><p>* My story – Olsen's Secret Life<p>

** _Fränkische Saale_ is a major river running near Hammelburg, Germany.


	6. Secrets Withheld

Perched over the trashcan, Hogan continued vomiting until nothing remained in his system. Wilson handed him a wet cloth as he stood up. "I don't want the men to know."

"There's no need for them to know," Wilson said, understanding the Colonel had an image to protect. The sight of the Corporal's mangled chest nearly had him retching too, but his concern for the Colonel overrode his gag reflex.

"I don't mean this," he pointed to the trashcan. "I don't want them learning the details of what happened to Mittendoref, and realizing that's what Olsen would have experienced if he hadn't escaped."

Wilson went pale, he hadn't put the pieces together yet, but the Colonel was most likely correct. His urge to vomit became stronger, so he took in deep breaths to calm his stomach as he washed out the trashcan.

"Was what they did done by someone with experience or someone lacking training?" Hogan asked, walking back over to the body.

"Definitely someone with extensive medical knowledge, and it was the same with all the other victims' injuries. Whoever is conducting these experiments have some of the most advanced methods I've ever seen," Prust explained.

"Which means we're up against professionals," Hogan ran a hand over his forehead. "I need to know exactly what they did to him."

"That's going to take some time which we may not have much of. I can handle Klink, but when Hochstetter finds out, he's going to order the body burned. It would go faster if Joe will stay and help," Prust said.

"I don't mind. If Olsen needs us, just send someone over, sir," Wilson said.

"Keep me informed," Hogan said then left returning to the hut.

* * *

><p>Schultz stopped in the middle of the compound looking up at the damaged guard tower. He'd changed and was reporting as ordered to his commander's office. "What happened? And why is Doctor Prust here?" Langenscheidt explained the activities of the day; the woodpile accident, Olsen's injury, and the exploding tower. Schultz listened quietly until he finished. "Was the tower monkey business?"<p>

"Nein, I don't believe so. Colonel Hogan was surprised when it blew up, and he didn't get down on the ground like when he knows something is about to happen. Plus Doctor Prust stood next to him when it occurred; he would have warned his friend if he'd known about it. The Kommandant thinks it was the searchlight. Something else, Colonel Hogan said Sergeant Olsen's injuries occurred at the woodpile," Langenscheidt said.

"Monkey business. What about the Kommandant?"

"He believes what Colonel Hogan told him. While searching for Rudolf, a blood trail was found. The Kommandant believes it leads from near the tree stumps to the road," Langenscheidt looked down not wanting to voice the words.

"So it's Olsen's blood, leave that for me to handle. I suppose we should see the Kommandant before he sends someone after us," Schultz had a lot of thinking to do, before he made up his mind up on what to do next.

* * *

><p>Hogan returned to the hut a little pale from his experience in the infirmary and immediately bombarded by questions. He held up his hand to quiet the men down. "Schultz found Corporal Mittendoref, but not before whomever Olsen escaped from killed him."<p>

"Cor, were those jokers lookin' for Olsen?" Newkirk asked

"That's my guess."

"What did they do to him?" Carter asked.

"Nothing good, that's for sure," Newkirk said.

"Right. And if the guards didn't see them while searching for Mittendoref, I'm thinking they're wearing Luftwaffe uniforms to blend in. Kinch and Garlotti, Newkirk and Reynolds, Carter and Sanders, Baker and Johnson, there are four entrances to the tunnels from the outside of camp. I want each one secured so no one can access them from the outside," Hogan ordered.

"You don't think they'd come into the tunnels?" Kinch asked, his mind working overtime to catch up with Hogan's.

"Let's just say I don't want to take the chance. Make sure you're all armed. Kinch, tell Barracks Nine and Sixteen, after roll call they're to do a complete tunnel search in teams. No one is to be alone in the tunnels until we're sure. I want a full report once the assignment is complete. Now get going and be back here before roll call," Hogan ordered.

"Sir, what happens if Bluebird tries to come by?" Newkirk asked.

"He's Gestapo and can use the front gate. You have your assignments," Hogan said. The men scattered to complete their tasks.

After the men left, LeBeau turned to his commander, "Sir, there's something you're not saying."

Hogan recognized LeBeau was concerned about him, but he didn't want to panic his men. "How is Olsen doing?"

"About the same. You're worried about these bâtards coming into the tunnels. They won't find them, no German ever has."

"I have a lot of men to protect."

"You do a good job protecting us, remember we're here to protect and help too. We're all in this together."

"Sure doesn't feel like I'm doing a good job protecting my men today."

"You do, mon Colonel, you do. Which is why Olsen came back to the only place he feels safe. I'm going to sit with him, so if you need anything…," LeBeau left the remainder of the sentence unspoken.

Hogan smiled despite his fears, "Thank you."

LeBeau took a damp cloth wiping the sweat off of Olsen's brow. The medications in his system wouldn't allow Olsen to wake up until sometime tomorrow. Only LeBeau wished he could open his eyes and tell them what happened. Now with the added threat, LeBeau wouldn't leave his friend's side. The filthy Boche would have to go through him to get to his friend. The Colonel was only taking precautionary steps, because the alarm would have sounded if someone had come into the tunnels. The system had worked several times in the past, such as when underground members came in, or when men from the camp forgot to disarm the alarm. The last time the alarm went off, Newkirk set it off on purpose, because he'd been shot and needed help. The lousy Gestapo got off a lucky shot hitting Newkirk in the leg. Even injured, the Englander managed to evade capture making it back safely. Regardless the circumstances, all incidents were treated as the real thing, because they never knew when someone like Hochstetter might wander in.

Olsen whimpered and LeBeau comforted him telling him that he was safe. All injuries had some impact on the men, the minor ones forgotten in time, but this wasn't such an injury and LeBeau wondered how it would affect Olsen. He refused to believe Olsen wouldn't survive. But his friend had never reacted this way to any injury. Would he ever be able to use his left arm again? Would he need to go to London for medical care to save the arm? If he was sent home, would LeBeau ever see him again? They all wanted to go home, but the men in this barracks had become his brothers, and he would miss them terribly when the war was over. Letters and phone calls would keep them in touch, but an ocean would separate them. It wouldn't be so easy to sit at their bedside when they were ill or injured; although LeBeau would fly, anywhere if one called needing him. Olsen started to calm down some as LeBeau spoke to him in French; he recited old nursery rhymes, as the mere sound of his voice comforted his friend.

* * *

><p>"Roll call inside!" Schultz bellowed entering the barracks.<p>

LeBeau held a hand to his lips, "Shhhhhh…Olsen is finally resting peacefully."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Schultz answered, looking around hoping all the men where home.

"Why roll call inside?" Hogan asked standing up from the table.

"Because of all the day's activities, the Kommandant is making the workload on the guards easier tonight," he said finishing his count. Then he walked over looking in the door of the Colonel's room. "What happened to him?"

"We're not sure," Hogan answered standing beside the guard.

"He waved to me this morning when he left in the vet's truck."

"A few hours later he came crawling back to camp in this condition, and that's all we know."

"Colonel Hogan, was the guard tower _monkey business_?"

"No, we didn't have anything to do with it," Hogan looked tired and Schultz could tell he was speaking the truth.

"I didn't think you did," Schultz softened his stance. "I've handpicked two guards to clean up the blood trail at first light in the morning. Nobody needs to see it, especially the Gestapo. I'm sure they'll show up tomorrow."

"I'd suggest you have your guards stay together in pairs, whoever attacked Olsen and Mittendoref are still out there."

Schultz opened and closed his mouth; he recognized that his man's injuries weren't from a fall, but an attacked. Plus he wasn't sure he wanted to know where Hogan obtained that information either.

"We believe it was the same men who attacked a Gestapo Private who was separated from his patrol recently," Hogan said.

"Danke, I'll take care of my men. The doctor will be here in a bit; he's checking on Sergeant McMahan in the infirmary, all the other men have been released to their huts. I believe the medic wants to keep him in the infirmary tonight. I'll bring the doctor by when he's finished."

"Thank you," Hogan had forgotten about the other men injured earlier with everything else happening.

"Tomorrow, I'll need volunteers to unload the supplies in the truck," he pulled out a few items from his coat handing them to LeBeau.

"Don't worry, we'll get them unloaded and put away," LeBeau promised taking the items storing them in his food pantry.

"Sehr gut. If anyone goes out on monkey business, _please_, be careful," Schultz left the barracks with one last glance at Olsen.

* * *

><p>Klink sat down at his desk picking up his phone. Roll call was complete with everyone was in their place, and Doctor Prust had finished his examination of Corporal Mittendoref, and much to his dismay, the Corporal's injuries weren't what he expected. Klink had no idea how they occurred and was completely baffled. He had to contact General Burkhalter, even at this late hour, a task he dreaded. The General was already irate with him because two weeks ago, Klink had been behind on his reports as usual. Burkhalter demanded they were complete and in his office by the following day, but Klink had a date he didn't want to miss with Bertha*. So to make his date <em>and<em> appease the General, he fudged the numbers on his report just to be able to turn it in with full intentions of sending in the correct report, only he never got around to it. The General figured out what he'd done and went ballistic, threatening to send Klink to the Russian Front if he didn't have the correct report by morning. With all the activities of the day, Klink didn't have time to complete the report, so he was afraid of this call. With a trembling hand dialed the General's home phone number.

"What is it, Klink?" Burkhalter's annoyed voice came across the line. "Have you finished the reports?"

"Nein, sir, I haven't even been able to work on them."

"_WHAT?_ Why not and this better be good!"

"There's been an accident, actually two separate accidents today. One of my guards has been killed." Klink waited for the explosion to happen.

Burkhalter sat down at his desk before calmly asking, "Did the prisoners riot?"

"No, sir," Klink explained the incidents of the day. "Sir, Doctor Prust examined the body, and his injuries don't correspond with a fall." He read off the doctor's list.

"Burn it."

"Burn what, sir?"

"The report the doctor gave you. Also, any notes the doctor took while examining the Corporal. This is a direct order, Corporal Mittendoref died accidentally when a defective search light exploded. If I ever hear anything else from anyone, you won't be alive when your body makes it to the Russian Front. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Herr General, but…but…I don't understand."

"What part of the Russian Front don't you understand?"

"It will be done, sir," Klink trembled.

"Gut. Now give the Corporal an appropriate medal and write his family a condolence letter for their loss. I'll see to it personally the medal is approved. We will never discuss this again. Is that understood?"

"Jawohl."

Burkhalter hung up the phone, and loosened his shirt collar, running his hand over his neck, blowing out a worried deep breath. The last thing he needed was the Gestapo connecting the Corporal's death with the other mysterious deaths occurring in the area. Similar deaths were occurring in another part of Germany, which had the High Command in a frenzy. No one knew who was committing them. However, the consensus was the Allies had dropped in two teams of highly advanced scientists with supporting commandos into Germany to conduct the experiments. Now it appeared the Allies are testing new weapons that could easily take out the guard towers? It didn't make sense. Was Stalag 13 about to be liberated? Should he call in reinforcement troops? To do that would bring attention to the death he'd just covered up, and the Gestapo would be crawling all over the camp. He didn't want the Geheime Staatspolizei in the camp possibly proving the normal sabotage activity in the area really came from there. It took all his considerable influence to dissuade Major Hochstetter's ranting about Colonel Hogan being Papa Bear. If that had ever been proven, Burkhalter would only face a firing squad, if he was lucky.

He stood pouring a stiff drink. He'd feared that somehow Stalag 13 would end up in the middle of this mess. Hogan didn't seem the type of officer who would allow such experiments to be done, especially so close to home. Perhaps he was overruled by a higher-ranking officer or didn't know what the Allies were doing. Burkhalter could only hope that when the Gestapo found these Allied mercenaries, they didn't drag Stalag 13 into the mess and cause his own demise. He downed his drink in one gulp with a shaky hand.

If the Allies weren't responsible, then someone in Germany was keeping one heck of a secret. And in Germany, that was a powerful feat.

* * *

><p>* Bertha Hagenfassel is from the episode The Big Broadcast.<p> 


	7. Progress and Allied Secrets

LeBeau sat the cup of broth down, "I guess that's enough for now. Wilson said when you're eating a little more than they'll take the IV out. Bet you'll be excited to get the needle out of your arm. Kinch spoke with Doctor Prust when he got home this morning, and everything is fine at his house. He'll come back if you don't start eating soon." Three days ago, no one thought Olsen would live through the night, but he proved them wrong. Although awake, Olsen wasn't talking or even seemed aware of anyone in the room. LeBeau could get small amounts of broth or water down him, but not enough to keep him hydrated. "Brian, I wish you'd talk to me or someone about what happened. We want to help." He sat watching Olsen, whose eyes stared blankly at the top bunk. No matter what they tried, Olsen didn't respond. LeBeau sat silently with him for several moments, then with a sad sigh stood up picking up the cup. "Get some rest, I'll be back. If you need anything…," he stopped as Olsen's right hand reached out touching his arm.

Olsen didn't look at him, but his hand held tightly onto LeBeau's arm. LeBeau sat back down next to his friend. "Brian?" The only visible response was tears pouring out of his eyes, down the sides of his face, landing on the pillow. Even crying, Olsen didn't make a sound or eye contact.

"That's good, get it all out," LeBeau held his hand. "I'm right here." Attempting to blink tears out of his own eyes, LeBeau kept holding his friend's hand until all his tears were shed. Eventually the grip on LeBeau's arm diminished as Olsen fell asleep. He continued to offer support until assured Olsen slept soundly. Then he left the small room closing the door behind him. Leaning against the bunk bed frame outside the door, he wiped his eyes.

"You all right?" Hogan asked as the tunnel entrance snapped closed.

LeBeau didn't answer immediately, instead taking deep breaths.

"Is Olsen all right?" Wilson asked entering the barracks seeing LeBeau's demeanor.

"Oui, I'm all right. Brian…non, he's not okay."

"What happened?" Wilson asked sitting his bag on the table.

LeBeau slowly explained what had transpired. When finished, he looked up to see Wilson with a huge grin. "Did you not understand what I just said?" LeBeau threw at him eyes ablaze.

"Yes, and that's the most positive sign I've seen in his recovery," Wilson answered.

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked.

"He's fighting his way back to us. It won't be long before he's talking and eating. LeBeau, would it be possible for you to fix something he enjoys eating that smells delightful? I'd like to tempt his taste buds with a wonderful aroma."

"Oui, it will make Schultz come running, so I'll fix extra," LeBeau said smiling and brightening up himself.

"Make sure it's not too rich, if all goes well he'll want something more than broth," Wilson added. LeBeau happily started pulling groceries out of his pantry. "Sir, were you able to contact London?"

"Yes, they're finally off radio silence," he sat down at the table, bags under his eyes, with the stress of the last few days showing. "They didn't have any information, but are quite interested in anything we can learn. This new chemical has them extremely concerned, so they're going to contact other operatives learning as much as possible. Hopefully, we can nip it before mass production begins."

"Sir, why don't you take a nap?" Sleep didn't come easily to the Colonel especially while sleeping in the common room until Olsen was strong enough to return to his own bunk, although he'd never say anything.

"I never sleep during the day," Hogan smiled.

"Make an exception." Hogan looked over at the bunk he'd been using giving Wilson hope. Instead, he changed his mind asking LeBeau for coffee dashing the fragile hope Wilson had. "Remember, we need you at your best, and exhausted isn't your best. I have a cozy corner in the infirmary, if you want somewhere quiet."

"Thanks for the concern, but I'll be fine."

"Think about it, sir. Since Olsen is resting quietly, I'm going to check on the others. Should anyone need me, I'll be around," Wilson left the barracks.

* * *

><p>Klink sat behind his desk, the window opened; he glanced out at the prisoners milling around the compound. The camp had been quiet since Tuesday's activities, thankfully. A morose feeling continued to envelope the camp, guards and prisoners alike, still reeling from the events which killed a guard and seriously wounded a prisoner. The mortuary department picked up Corporal Mittendoref's body yesterday after the memorial service. There hadn't been a dry eye during the service. Mittendoref had been well loved despite his fear of heights, his sense of humor making everyone in the camp laugh, even Klink at times. The Corporal's autographed poster of Oscar Danzing as a female impersonator now proudly hung in the common room of the guards' barracks. He should have it destroyed because Danzing is a known underground leader, but he didn't have the heart. The rationale he decided upon if anyone questioned it, would be since the man has been seen in the area, his guards used it as a wanted poster. Hopefully no one would notice Hitler's photo which used to hang in the same spot, now resided in a corner.<p>

The letter to the Corporal's parents was finished as he reread through it ensuring appropriateness. With the medal already approved, he would send both at the same time. The Mittendoref family had three sons fighting for the Fatherland, Klink didn't know if the other sons were alive or not, but he hoped for the parents' sakes they were. Picking up a pen, he signed the typed letter adding his deepest sympathies in his own handwriting on the bottom. He placed the letter and medal in an envelope, sealing it, then stood up, walking over to the mail drop placing the package in the basket. The courier would arrive soon taking the dreaded news to the Corporal's family. Along with delivering to Luftwaffe headquarters the report which General Burkhalter had been in turmoil about a few days ago, since the accident said report became much less important.

With a heavy heart, he went outside roving aimlessly around the compound. Klink found himself in front of the storage shed holding the damaged search light, taking the lock's key out of his pocket, opening the shed.

"Did you determine what the problem was, sir?" Hogan asked him coming around the corner.

"Nein, not really. Defective, I suppose." He moved aside allowing his counterpart to inspect the light.

Hogan moved the object into the sunlight, charring clearly showing on one side. He turned it upside down inspecting the electrical housing which appeared intact and undamaged. "Doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"The new one will arrive soon, so don't get any ideas of escaping."

Hogan didn't answer the familiar bait as he continued to inspect the light from every angle. "Will a new electrical line need to be run to the tower? I have a couple of electricians that can assist if you'd like."

"Thank you, but the current line is in good working order." Klink wasn't in the mood to be on the defense, sometimes he and Hogan could work together when it came to protecting the men. "However, work needs to be done on the tower before the new light can be installed."

"I'm sure we can work something out," Hogan wanted the guard tower inspected for evidence and to see if any sign of the men responsible for the atrocities could be seen from up high. "Has any progress been made in finding out who killed the Corporal?"

"His death was an accident. Nothing more."

"That's not what I've heard."

"Rumors. When will you learn to not listen to gossip? Mittendoref's death wasn't caused by some unknown Buhmann any more than Olsen's injuries were."

"I've heard several towns' people were killed by those boogeymen. What's really going on Kommandant? And how do we keep the men safe - yours and mine?"

"Despite what you might think, keeping _all_ the men in this camp safe is my responsibility, and I can promise you, no one is in danger."

"Then why all the extra guards?"

"Simply because I have a searchlight down, which creates a blind spot, and I'm down a guard. Can't let the prisoners think now would be a good time to escape, so my guards are patrolling the woods with due diligence," Klink turned away from Hogan. He'd been wondering the same thing, after hearing about the deaths in town. The Gestapo private who was killed sent fear through him worrying about his men walking the beat outside the wire. After the way the General had reacted, he knew the rumors were true, but wouldn't admit the fact to Hogan. "What other false stories are circulating?"

"Just that no one knows whose committing the acts, including the Gestapo," Hogan watched Klink closely. He knew the man was scared, and didn't expect to get any useful information out of him.

"Utter nonsense. No one in Germany can keep a secret from the Gestapo. If there was any truth to these rumors, they'd know exactly who was conducting the experiments. Since the Gestapo doesn't know anything proves no such events are real. You shouldn't believe everything you hear." Klink hoped he'd dispelled the rumors and Hogan would squash them in camp. He didn't need the General to hear the rumors still abounded.

"We get so little information."

"That's exactly how it should be!"

"Which only make rumors spread quicker."

"How is Sergeant Olsen today?"

"Not much change, sir," Hogan looked down, his worry apparent.

"Doctor Prust said he'd be out tomorrow, but if needed, he'd come anytime. I'm glad he's going to survive," Klink said with heartfelt honesty.

"Thank you," Hogan placed the searchlight back in the shed.

* * *

><p><strong>Allied Headquarters - London, England<strong>

General Alvin Butler knocked on his boss's door. After receiving an 'Enter', went inside closing the door behind him. He walked over to the chair, sat down, and ran a hand over his face, distress showing.

"What happened?" Lieutenant General Roger Thompson* asked.

"Do you have something strong in your desk?" Butler tossed a pad of paper down. Thompson nodded his head, opening a drawer. Pulling out a bottle of good whiskey, he poured a glass handing it to Butler. He started to recap the bottle, changed his mind, and poured himself a glass figuring he was going to need one too.

"Heard from Hogan, there's some trouble in his area," Butler explained Hogan's report about the experiments.

"So Hogan knows now." He rubbed his forehead then finished half his drink in one shot.

"Which is going to be trouble."

"Trouble is putting it mildly. Who did we lose?"

"No one. A…Sergeant Brian Olsen lived, although he will have a long road to recovery," he read the name off the paper.

"Not a small miracle. Does he need to come home?"

"The Krauts have allowed an underground physician to treat him, so they're good with medical supplies for now, although bringing the Sergeant home might be in his best interest. Right now he can't travel, so we'll need to wait and see," Butler handed his empty glass over for a refill.

"What did you tell Hogan?"

"To gather as much intelligence as he could, and report back on regular intervals."

"You do realize, if anyone can figure this out, it might be Hogan," Thompson said sitting back in his chair.

"I know. What should we tell him?"

"Nothing. Can you imagine how he'd react?"

"I don't like keeping him in the dark. He's a good officer and might be able to help."

"All right," Thompson tented his hands gently tapping his fingers together. "Exactly what would you tell him?"

Butler ran a hand over the chair arm thinking for a moment before answering. "I see what you mean. He'd demand more information than we could give him, and explode when he found out. Not that I'd blame him for his reaction."

"I don't want to deal with his reaction. Do you?" Thompson asked raising an eyebrow.

"Not really. It's hard enough keeping the information contained here."

"For now this stays classified above Hogan's grade level. Offer as much support for his man's recovery as possible. Once he's able, we may bring him home for a complete debriefing. In the meantime, I want immediate briefings on any intelligence Hogan sends in," the General ordered. "I'll notify the brass in Washington. Heaven help us if Hogan discovers the truth."

* * *

><p>* The Three Star General is never named in the episode Easy Come, Easy Go, so I decided to make him Butler's boss in this story.<p> 


	8. Questions and More Questions

"We've completed the third full sweep of the tunnel system, and there are no unwanted guests," Kinch said as he and Hogan slowly walked around the front of the compound Saturday afternoon. "While we were down there, the men found a couple of areas where the bracing is dicey, so they are working on shoring those areas up."

"Good. At least that much is going right. What's the word from the underground?" Hogan asked.

"Not much. No one has seen any strangers or newcomers in town. Max said the other grocers haven't had any new customers either. It's like whoever is doing this are ghosts."

"I'd bet they're well-funded and are receiving supplies directly from military sources. Have the underground watch for military trucks that aren't following the normal pathways. And check the airfields for unusual activity. Has anyone else gone missing?" Hogan stopped walking waiting for Newkirk to come back in through the front gate.

"Not that's been reported. Bluebird hasn't gotten anywhere in their investigation. He and Hochstetter have a meeting in Berlin on Monday, and promised to keep us updated." Kinch turned greeting Newkirk. "How did it go out there?"

"We finished the tower repairs, and I'll tell ya one thing. That was one strange explosion," Newkirk said walking back towards the barracks with the pair.

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked.

"If the searchlight was the cause of the explosion, you'd expect everything to be blown outward with the heaviest damage being around the light. Instead, the damaged wood was blown inside the platform with the lightest damage being around the searchlight. It just didn't make sense, Gov'nor."

"Are you sure?" Kinch asked looking confused.

"I've seen enough explosions to know the difference. I'm positive," Newkirk answered.

"Perhaps some type of new weapon?" Kinch said.

"One more mystery to add to the puzzle. I'm getting tired of the questions, and ready for some answers," Hogan shook his head in aggravation.

"Something good I saw while up there is that with the foliage grown up, the tree trunk tunnel entrance can't be seen at all from that tower. Making things a might easier for us," Newkirk grinned.

"That is good news. We need to get a look at it from the other guard towers," Hogan stopped walking turning to look at the towers' placement.

"How do you purpose that, sir?" Kinch asked with a creased brow.

"I came up with the idea, hoping you two would come up with the answer," he said then continued towards the barracks.

"How about someone putting on a guard's uniform and pull a relief stint for the actual guard? That way, they'd be up there for an hour alone and can take good notes," Newkirk suggested as they came around the corner.

"Let me give it some thought, but you might have something there," Hogan said. As they reached the barracks door, they heard clapping coming from inside. They saw Olsen standing at the Colonel's door with LeBeau and Wilson flanking each side, when they entered through the front door.

"Well look who decided to quit goldbrickin' in the Colonel's quarters," Newkirk said with a huge grin.

"Can't leave you alone too long, or you'll get into too much trouble," Olsen smirked sitting down at the table.

"How are you feeling?" Hogan asked pouring a cup of coffee then sitting down across from the Sergeant.

"Better. My head is still a bit fuzzy," Olsen took a glass of milk from LeBeau.

"He's doing great," LeBeau declared.

"I'll second that," Wilson said sitting next to Olsen at the table.

"Are you up to talking about what happened?" Hogan asked. He'd not wanted to push Olsen before now, because he'd been so weak. However, as their commander, he needed answers.

"Not sure there's much I can tell you, sir," Olsen looked down at the table.

"What do you remember?"

"Lights out Monday night, then nothing until I woke up Friday. I've been wracking my brain, but it's blank," Olsen said.

"Situation normal," Newkirk teased with a wink.

"Ha ha, you'd only think that cause that's your normal state of mind," Olsen joked back making everyone smile. Turning more serious he added, "Sir, I know it's important to figure out what happened Tuesday, and I promise I've been trying. I…," Olsen shook his head.

"It's all right, it'll come back," Hogan covered his disappointment well. Not only did he have to worry about the rest of the men in camp, London was asking for an update. "We'll start slow. How about dreams? Anything you can remember in them?"

"No," Olsen said yawning, thinking back to his dreams. They were so confusing to him; he wasn't ready to attempt to put them in words.

"You've had enough excitement for today. Let's get you back to bed," Wilson said standing up next to his patient.

Olsen didn't fight the suggestion standing up on shaky legs. "I think I'd like to sleep in my own bunk instead." He made his way to his bunk with Wilson and LeBeau hovering close until he'd lie down.

Hogan indicated with a nod of his head for Wilson to join him in his room privately. "What do you think of Olsen not remembering anything?"

"Trauma of what he went through. This wasn't a normal injury. Give him some time, it'll come back to him," Wilson answered.

"Time is not a luxury I have. When he wakes up, I'm going to need to push him for answers."

"I would suggest against that approach, sir. If you push him too fast, you may never get the answers you're looking for. He's blocked it out for a reason, and pushing too soon could ensure he never remembers," Wilson was adamant.

"All right, what do you suggest?"

"Give him a couple of more days and pay attention to his reactions and mood. You'll be able to tell when things are coming back to him. Plus right now, he's got so many drugs running through his body, which I suspect is causing the some of the memory blockage. Once the medication clears out of his system, he'll be able to remember more."

Hogan ran a hand over his face, "I'll wait for now. But I can't wait long."

"Olsen asking to sleep in his own bunk is an excellent sign. I doubt the wait will be long."

* * *

><p>His own bunk felt good to lie down in again as he stretched out in it to find a comfortable spot. Olsen understood why the Colonel needed the details of what happened. Heck, <em>he<em> wanted to know what happened. But everything was a jumbled mess in his mind. There were flashes of pictures, he wasn't quite sure if they were memories or dreams. The color silver made him shudder and he didn't even understand why. A sound, just beyond his ability to identify, haunted him, making him tremble in fear. His dreams were a chaotic mess of his past in ways that didn't reflect the actual past incidents only making him more confused. Everyone thought he'd fought hard and gotten away from his attackers; nothing could have been farther from the truth. He struggled valiantly but had been completely overpowered, although he couldn't remember anything about how he got away. Thoughts related to the abduction sent pure panic throughout him, which he couldn't control causing him to shake. LeBeau thought the shaking meant he was in pain, and he couldn't bring himself to admit the truth to his friend yet.

One thing he did remember vividly was pain; searing, hot, atrocious pain causing his body to react in ways he didn't realize possible. Whoever abducted him had taken the art of torture to a level that made the Gestapo look like childish amateurs. He didn't know the human body could withstand so much horrendous pain and live. The medical experiment performed on his arm, he couldn't even bring himself to admit the truth, but the pain continued even now. He reached over rubbing his left elbow, the act of touching it nauseating him. He dropped the arm as if it were a foreign object attached to his body then curled up attempting to breathe through the waves of nausea hoping no one saw the reaction.

Too late. LeBeau was by his side rubbing his good shoulder. "Do you need something?"

"No, I'm okay," he replied with sweat pouring off his forehead hoping the nausea would pass quickly as he closed his eyes. He continued to breathe as the wave began to diminish.

LeBeau produced a cup of cool water from somewhere holding it to his lips lifting his head slightly, "Sip slowly."

"Thanks," he gave a weak smile after taking a few sips, which did seem to ease his stomach. Closing his eyes and laying his head back, he uncurled as his gut cooperated. LeBeau was such a good friend; Brian didn't know what he'd do without him. The little Frenchman made him feel safe, when no one or nothing else could. He'd do anything for Louis, and always tried to bring him something special back on his trips outside. He knew if no one else believed him when he could tell his story, LeBeau would, and adamantly tell the others Olsen wasn't insane. Part of him felt insane, as if a piece of his brain's reasoning ability had been removed. Unconsciousness beckoned and he allowed it to lull him away into what he prayed was peaceful rest; assured LeBeau would stand guard until he was strong again.

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me, Doctor?"<p>

"Yes, come in. I've spoken with Command and they're not pleased with the pace or the preliminary results of the experiments. They've asked us to speed up the tests and make a determination in the next few days. What have your observations shown?"

"Test subject X19 surprisingly lived. We have him under continual surveillance. All the other subjects perished as expected."

"Very interesting," the doctor moved away from his desk to the window where the sun's bright rays shined. "Keep an eye on him. We may need to bring him back for more tests. You're sure that's the correct subject number?"

"Yes, sir, I verified the information myself. The others in his area have given him support and medical care. An interesting observation in itself."

"There might be some hope in salvaging this operation if he lived. Let's give him a few days more to recover from the first procedure, and then we'll make a determination on continuing with the next step. Will there be any trouble in obtaining him again?"

"No, sir. His exact location is known and he can be brought back to the lab at any time you wish. If subject X19 is chosen for the next procedure, what will be his chances of survival?"

"None. However, he will give his life in the line of valuable research. A most worthy way for any test subject to serve our needs. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Completely, sir. I will have the observation continued to ensure he doesn't disappear. We don't want to disappoint Command."

"Definitely not. In the meantime, there is another round of testing to be performed and new subjects will be required tomorrow. Since the last two procedures have gone so well, pull from the same area. No need to make this difficult on ourselves."

"Are you not concerned the local authorities will become suspicious?"

"If the local authorities interfere in any way, they can be the next test subjects. There are many more experiments which would provide valuable scientific research. Do you expect any difficulties?"

"No sir, we've tried to remain anonymous and undetected. Continuing to pull from the same location might bring attention to our intent is all I'm saying."

"The locals won't know what hits them when we're finished with the study. Make sure the new test subjects are appropriately restrained in time for the tests. Dismissed," the doctor ordered, and then sat down at his desk to review the laboratory findings. Test subject X19 might be the salvation of this mission.


	9. Cricket Interuptus

"LeBeau, would you just go?" Olsen sounded exasperated sitting against the back of his bunk with a book lying next to him.

"But what if you need something?" the Frenchman responded torn as what to do.

"It's only an hour. I'll be fine."

"Sure he will. Besides I'll be here," Mason said having entered the hut.

"I don't need a babysitter," Olsen threw his hand up.

"I know that, but I really need to talk to you, if it's okay," Mason replied plopping down on the end of his bunk.

"LeBeau, are you coming?" Hogan asked standing at the front door.

"Oui. If he needs anything come get me," LeBeau told Mason as he and everyone else left the hut.

"A better friend, I couldn't ask for," Olsen smiled once the barracks was empty, save them. "Chapel services are important to him, and I don't want him to miss out on account of me. Besides it's the first quiet time since I've been back."

"He's usually the first there and last to leave," Mason said.

"Yep. What's going on with you?"

Mason squirmed a little unsure how to start the conversation. "A lot of guys have been through the wringer with the Gestapo, but what you and I've been through is different. It's hard to say some things you're not sure if the others would believe. Thought if you wanted to talk no matter how it sounded, I'd listen."

Olsen was moved by the young Private's bravery and honesty. "That means a lot to me. What happened to me was bad, really bad, but I'm not sure it measures up to what you went through for months."

"I saw you when you came back and was the first to give you blood. I don't doubt that we have…that…in common." Sometimes Mason still had a hard time talking about the torture he endured at the hands of one Schutzstaffel Hauptsturmführer Heinrich Fleischer. The maniac used Mason as a torture board to make captured Allied soldiers talk. When every bit of useful information had been gleamed out of the soldier, the Captain put a bullet in the man's head. Mason endured endless beatings and electrocutions over a six-month period in their custody. After each session, he was dumped back into a windowless cell until the Captain decided his services were needed again.

"LeBeau said you donated blood. Thanks."

"I understand how hard it is to talk, not sure if anyone will believe you. Trust me. Give us a chance."

"Hey! No one. Absolutely _no one_ in this camp doubts what you went through. Don't you ever think that," Olsen was adamant.

"Then why do you assume they won't believe you?"

Olsen shifted in his seat playing with the edge of his blanket. His mind wandered back to the first day Mason was brought to camp.

* * *

><p>Olsen had been cleaning the Kommandantur looking for information the Colonel wanted on some new prisoners, when an SS officer showed up. Two guards dragged in a young black kid wearing chains that weighed more than he did. In fact, Mason could barely stand. He stared blankly with no effect showing on his face or in his eyes. He thought the kid looked more dead than alive.<p>

"Kommandant Klink, I'm Captain Fleischer, Heil Hitler," the Captain gave a standard German salute, which Klink responded in kind.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" Klink blinked but tried not to show his horror at the plight of the young man. The obvious bruises and electrical burns shined brightly against the prisoner's ashen skin color.

"We found this rat and thought since he's Air Force; he should be in Luftwaffe custody. Evidently, the Allies are at the end of their manpower pool allowing such trash in airplanes," Fleischer smirked pointing at his prisoner.

"How long have you had him?" Klink asked, noticing Hogan had just arrived uninvited in his office.

"Not long. He begged to stay with us. My commander thought it best we bring him here. However, if you're unable to take him, I'll find a nice hole somewhere to toss him."

"I will take custody of the airman," Klink signed the paperwork handing it back to the Captain.

"He was _extremely helpful_ while with us. Watch this one though, he screams a lot," Fleischer chuckled as his men took the chains off of Mason. "You have a cooler, Ja? I'd suggest he be placed there for the duration of the war."

"Colonel…," Hogan started to speak but was cut off by Klink.

"Don't worry." Klink sent Hogan a warning look to wait until the SS left before asking for anything. "I know exactly how to handle such prisoners."

"If you have any prisoners or excess Allied officers you'd like us to take off your hands, I'd be happy to dispose of them," Fleischer observed Hogan closely. The look in the man's eyes not hiding his disdain or intent.

"Thank you for delivering the prisoner. My guards will take it from here," Klink gave the Captain a dismissal salute.

Fleischer walked over and stood so close to Hogan's face, the Colonel could feel the man's breath on his cheeks. "Pity. We could have had some interesting discussions." Hogan held his ground, his command face firmly in place, but fury could be seen in his eyes. "Should you change your mind, Colonel, and wish a change in scenery. I'll be happy to accommodate you," Fleisher hissed glaring at Hogan. Then, not bothering to return Klink's salute, the Captain sauntered out of the office leaving the camp with his men.

Hogan caught Mason as he collapsed to the floor once the door closed behind the SS.

"Schultz, get a stretcher and take the Private to the infirmary. Hogan, go with him and I'll get Doctor Prust out here immediately," Klink ordered, before Hogan started in on what he knew would be a long list of demands.

Olsen, having watched the entire proceedings from the outer office helped to carry Mason to the infirmary. "I'm not sure how you didn't lose it back there, sir."

"It wouldn't have done any good. Had to ensure the Captain didn't take the Private back with him or shoot either of us. But if I ever get a chance to get my hands on him …," Hogan didn't finish his thought.

Olsen took turns sitting with the young Private until his strength returned and he could be released from the infirmary assigned to Barracks Eight. He made it his goal to make the young man laugh every day.

* * *

><p>"Guess cause I was there and I don't believe it," Olsen answered finally with a heavy sigh. "I'm not sure what's real, imagined, or I…I don't know."<p>

"Trust your gut, it knows the truth. Someone I respect told me that once," Mason grinned. He and Olsen had a similar conversation shortly after he'd been released from the infirmary. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly asked. "Was it the SS?"

Olsen thought before answering. "Not sure, it might have been. Wouldn't surprise me at all, but I can't say positively."

He didn't miss his friend trying to hide a painful grimace. "Take the pain medicine if you need it, don't tough it out, which is something else you made me promise to do, if you remember. I took a message from General Butler a couple of days ago that said Command would drop anything you need to recover. You must have friends in high places."

"Yep, all the way up to the rank of Colonel," Olsen smiled. "The pills are in the Colonel's room, would you grab one for me?" Mason brought him the medication and some water; after taking it, Olsen laid down quickly falling asleep. The Private sat at the common table playing solitaire until the occupants of Barracks Two returned.

* * *

><p>Kinch grabbed LeBeau's arm stopping him from leaving the chapel. "He's in good hands, don't worry," he whispered into the Frenchman's ear. LeBeau sighed shrugging his shoulders agreeing to stay then finally getting caught up in the singing. Kinch thought back to when he met Olsen.<p>

oo00oo

Captured by Luftwaffe personnel the same night he was shot down, Kinch wasn't sure what to expect. He'd sat through the briefings on what to do if caught by the enemy; however, they were in the abstract. His current reality had him sitting tightly handcuffed in front of a German Oberleutnant speaking broken English.

"Come now, we already know your rank, name, and Seriennummer, Sergeant. Tell me the position of your Luftwaffenstützpunkt."

Kinch looked at the man as if he had three heads projecting utter confusion repeating his name, rank, and serial number. He understood the Lieutenant was asking for the location of his air base, but thought it best keeping the knowledge he was fluent in German a secret. His interrogation lasted a few hours before he was tossed in a cell, after overhearing the Germans making reference to his heritage and lack of intelligence in not so pleasant terms in their native tongue.

Five days after capture, he landed in Stalag 13 assigned to Barracks Four. Olsen was beginning to get around a bit after being under LeBeau's care for a month, when they met in the recreation hall. The two men hit it off well instantly forming a friendship. One day while walking around the compound together, they passed two guards telling a joke. Going around the corner, both men fell into hysterics over the joke. When their laughter died down, they realized what they'd done.

"You too, huh?" Olsen asked shocked.

"Yeah, do you speak anything else?"

"Italian and a little French. What about you?"

"Fluent in German, French, and Italian, but they don't know," Kinch said.

"Same here. There are a couple of others you should meet," Olsen said taking him to the next meeting of the escape committee.

Six weeks later, Colonel Hogan was assigned to Stalag 13. The men gave him a rigorous checkout, finally meeting behind the delousing station to compare notes.

"So what d'ya think?" Newkirk asked lighting up an ever-present cigarette.

"Never met him, even though I flew in the same bomber command, but I did hear a lot about him. He's the real Colonel Hogan," Olsen said.

"I agree. Why the Germans would put him in an enlisted camp is mystifying," Kinch added.

"Then we agree on what we have to do. All our plans need to be used to get him back to bombing the Boche," LeBeau said in mixed French and English. The men nodded their heads in agreement.

"Well gentlemen, what's the verdict?" Hogan asked coming around the corner. The four looked like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Did I pass your tests proving who I am?"

"Sorry sir, just something we had to do," Kinch answered.

"I'd been more worried if you hadn't," Hogan said. "Well?"

"Yes, sir. I served under you in the 504th though we never met. So we know how important it is for you to get back to London, to help end this awful war," Olsen said.

"We have a plan if you'd like to hear it sir," Kinch asked. The Colonel nodded his head for the men to continue.

"I've done some probing around the area. The Kommandant thought they were real escape attempts, instead of intelligence gathering outings. There's a railroad station in town, and I managed to get me hands on a ticket, which I hid outside the wire before being recaptured by Schultz," Newkirk started.

"While he was in the cooler, I went outside getting the confiscated items on a mushroom picking trip. Bribed Schultz into taking me," LeBeau said.

"A couple of months ago, Colonel Klink tossed out an old uniform. With a few modifications it wouldn't take much to tailor it to fit you," Olsen added.

"To make a long story shorter, between the four of us, we have the ability to write you orders in German, outfit you in a German Luftwaffe uniform, duplicate a train ticket to get you to the coast, provide some food, and take a few marks from the guards for your trip. The only thing we haven't figured out is how to get you across the channel," Kinch said.

Hogan, amazed by the ingenuity of the men, listened quietly before a grin overtook his face. "Thanks for all the hard work and the offer, but I have another suggestion," which marked the birth of the Traveler's Aid Society.

* * *

><p>About three in the afternoon, Olsen woke up to find everyone inside the hut lounging around on a lazy Sunday. LeBeau had saved him some lunch, which he heartily ate. Not up to playing cards with the guys, he sat back on his bunk reading a book with his legs stretched out. From somewhere in the barracks a cricket chirped. His heart rate shot up, perspiration forming on his brow, as he looked around with enlarged eyes. Then a small dark colored cricket jumped up on his bunk landing on his leg. Olsen lost it.<p>

Hogan came running out of his office worried one of his men was being tortured to find the men literally trying to peel Olsen out his bunk. LeBeau had killed the offending cricket trying to show his friend it was dead. Olsen shaking and screaming didn't respond to touch or command.


	10. Abduction Answers

A/N: This chapter contains material that might be difficult for some readers.

* * *

><p>Hogan led Olsen into his office sitting him down on his lower bunk, after he recovered enough to follow simple commands. He then pulled a chair from his desk over sitting in front of his Sergeant who was still shaking from the encounter of a cricket landing on his bed. "Take some deep breaths, in through your nose out through your mouth." Olsen had difficulty following the orders at first, but finally able to comply calming his rapid breathing down with coaching from his commander.<p>

"I'm all right now, sir. I'm so sorry. I…I don't know why that happened," the Sergeant said, clearly embarrassed with a tinge of red showing on his checks.

"No need to apologize. But it's time we go over what happened Tuesday." Olsen immediately looked panicked. Hogan placed a hand on his knee giving him a gentle smile. "We'll do it together and slowly. Think back to that morning, what do you remember? What did you do?"

"A normal morning, Schultz bellowed for us to come out for roll call. We stood outside forever waiting on Klink, finally came back inside, and ate. After breakfast, I got ready for my mission," Olsen answered, swallowing hard dreading this talk.

"When you got up from the table, what did you do next?"

"Put my dish in the sink."

"Then what?"

"I topped off my coffee, and got my shaving kit," Olsen started to calm down some, his embarrassment fading.

Hogan blinked having to remember what that Southern colloquial meant. "Good, you freshened your cup of coffee, then shaved and combed your hair. What did you do next?" He asked sitting back watching his Sergeant closely.

"I changed into the German civilian clothes, storing my uniform in my footlocker. Next, I left camp," Olsen said looking down at his right hand as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"How did you leave camp?" Hogan needed to keep him in the details and not rush through; positive this would be one of the roughest debriefings of both of their lives. However painful, they had to complete it before Olsen shutdown again.

"I went up through the dog pen. Newkirk distracted Schultz while I got in Oscar's truck, which was full of dogs. I climbed into the back of it and Bruno came to lick my face. A lot of the guys are fond of Heidi, but Bruno is my favorite of the guard dogs," Olsen smiled, a happy smile.

"Why?" Hogan asked, hoping the memory would help.

"He reminds me of a dog I had growing up, Max. Bruno always comes directly to me and puts his head under my hand so he can be petted as Max would always do. Max curled up in bed with me at night; he started at the foot of my bed but before long, he'd be taking over my pillow. I didn't mind, I'd throw an arm around him and use him as a pillow. Ma would always complain that my sheets had dog hair on them. Told her they couldn't because Max slept on the floor. Wasn't until I was older, that I realized they probably saw Max and I curled up asleep together. But we both pretended that Max didn't get on the bed. In the truck, Bruno lay down on my leg snuggling up against me looking up with his trusting eyes. They have a lot of the same personality traits. He's a neat dog," Olsen had calmed down considerably.

Hogan stored that information for later reference. Maybe Bruno needed to come back to camp for a while. "Once you left camp, what happened next?"

"About half a mile outside of camp just past the bend, the truck stopped and I got out. I gave Bruno one last scratch behind the ears, then shook Oscar's hand. We made our rendezvous plans for the trip back inside the camp. Afterwards, I took off in the opposite direction from which Oscar drove the truck," he hesitated not wanting to continue.

"All right, you're on the road. Did you see anyone? Were there any unusual noises?"

"No. No one around nor were any other vehicles. I kept an eye out for guards but none were in the area, so I starting walking towards town." He suddenly stopped making a funny face.

"What is it?" Hogan's left eyebrow went up.

"The shoes I was wearing; the right one needed the sole replaced. I could feel the pebbles on my foot, thought it might rub a blister."

"That's good intel. We'll have it replaced before those shoes are worn again. You're doing great. What happened next?"

"A light hit me."

"Where did the light come from?"

"I'm not sure, but it was bright, really bright, and disorienting."

"Like a flashlight?"

"No, brighter."

"Headlights?"

"No, more like a searchlight, but I'm not certain where it was coming from," Olsen closed his eyes trying to determine where the light originated. He put his right hand up as if trying to block the light out of his eyes.

"Do you hear any noise? An engine perhaps?"

"No, nothing. Everything went dark," Olsen visibly trembled, his voice shaky.

"Breathe… breathe…breathe…"

_Olsen woke up strapped down to a metal table unsure how he'd gotten in the predicament. He struggled to get up, but couldn't move with two straps across his chest, one pinning his shoulders down, the other on his abdomen. Both arms held tightly at the wrists, and double straps covering his legs. "Hallo," he called out in German. No one answered him. Above him was a light, like in an operating room; however, the surrounding room was dark. The light didn't blind him, but did prevent him from seeing farther than a few feet. "Great Brian, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he mumbled quietly. _

"Were there any sounds?"

_He listened but the only sounds were of machinery. What type, he couldn't tell. Suddenly he heard a cricket, or something which sounded like a cricket. Then another, and a third, but the cricket sounds weren't what one would consider normal. Instead, the sounds seemed as if the crickets were speaking to each other. There were pauses in the noise, and the structure was similar to sentences. His brain couldn't make sense of the noises. "Hello," he called out again and a light turned on in the distance. He could tell he was in what appeared to be a hospital with medical equipment lining the walls making the machinery noise. But he wasn't hurt, so why would he be here? "I think there's been a mistake." _

_He didn't know which was more terrifying, being held in the dark, or the three figures approaching him. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but I think I should leave now." No one spoke to him; the sounds of the cricket noises continued as they 'spoke' to each other becoming louder as the men approached him._

Hogan had a hand on both of Olsen's shoulders shaking him bringing him back to the present. "Calm your breathing down, you are okay. You're safe. You're in the barracks."

Olsen finally looked at him, full panic on his face. "Col…Colonel…I…I don't think I can do this."

"Yes you can," Hogan said with a reassuring smile. Although he didn't want to cause Olsen any more pain, they needed the intel. Plus, he feared if they stopped now, Olsen would sink back into the hole which he was just beginning to climb out. Despite the terror Olsen was feeling, Hogan knew there was only one way, and that was to go through the entire painful story now, similar to ripping a bandage off in one yank. "You're not alone. We'll do it together." Olsen nodded his head, obviously still terrified. "What did they look like?"

_The figures came closer, dressed in white lab coats, tall, and wearing some type of mask, similar to a gas mask, only the masks were silver, not the normal green or black he was used to seeing. He couldn't see their face due to the masks. They walked around him, making that incessant cricket noise. Two stopped on his left and the third on his right. The one obviously in charge pointed to the one on the right and to Olsen's arm. The other jabbed a needle harshly into Olsen's arm drawing blood. "Hey! What's going on? What are you doing? Why am I tied down? Where is this place? Let me go!" They didn't respond. The blood vampire took the vial over to a bench with a strange looking device on it, and placed Olsen's blood in the machine. He flipped a switch causing the machine to hum. A vat similar to a medium size fish tank, started filling with a blue fluid next to the blood machine. Another man moved something circular onto Olsen's left arm an inch or so below the elbow. The device was cold, metallic, and tight cutting off his circulation. "Get it off! Who are you?" He struggled but to no avail. His captors didn't speak a word to him increasing his anxiety to a level he'd never experienced before._

"Colonel, I can't...can't," tears poured out of Olsen's eyes as he began to hyperventilate.

"Brian, you survived. I know it's hard to remember, but I need to know exactly what happened," Hogan sat next to him on the bunk putting an arm around the younger man's trembling shoulders. "Calm your breathing down. Deep breaths…you're doing fine. What happened next?"

_The third man walked over to a cabinet then returned to Olsen's left side with large medical instrument he could only identify as a saw. He pressed a button causing the saw to circulate, and placed it against Olsen's skin below the elbow, with force pushed it through the arm severing the limb. Olsen screamed in pain while blood poured out of the severed appendage shooting across the room, each beat of his heart making the blood pulse faster out of what was left of his arm. The man who removed his arm undid the wrist strap, picked up the amputated limb, and carried it to the table a few feet away, placing it in the vat containing the blue solution. His arm floated mid-way down the vat stabilizing in the middle of the container. One of the others placed a white cloth over the remaining portion of his left arm tightening the metal strip stopping the bleeding, but it didn't do anything for the pain. The pain was unbearable with screaming his only release. The man who placed the tourniquet on his arm continued to make adjustments until the blood loss stopped. "Why? What did you do this for? How could you? Tell me why?" Olsen screamed every curse word he knew in three languages at them, only to receive no answers. His head began to feel woozy and mercifully, he passed out from the pain, shock, and loss of blood. _

Olsen stood up, moving away from the Colonel, pacing through the small room, emotional and physical distress evident. He stopped bumping his leg into the footlocker below the window. Then he turned back facing his commander, his right hand moved to hold his left elbow, bile rising up in his throat at the touch, he took deep breaths trying to force it down while shaking uncontrollably. Hogan immediate stood, grabbing Olsen, lowering him to the floor before his wobbly legs gave out on him. With a trembling voice, he turned his face towards Hogan. "Colonel, they…they cut my arm off with no more thought than slicing through a loaf of bread!"


	11. Truth, Drugs, or Something Else

LeBeau paced through the barracks. "I should be in there with them," his hands punctuating in the air.

"The Gov'nor knows what he's doing," Newkirk said, lighting up a cigarette, still rattled himself.

"Oui, but still…"

"Give the Colonel and Olsen some time. He knows you're out here for him. Don't worry, he'll be fine," Kinch draped a calming arm around the Frenchman's shoulders.

LeBeau muttered something in French then his face brightened. "As his friends we can do something to help. Even though we don't know why a cricket scared Olsen, we can make sure it doesn't happen again."

"We can't kill every cricket in Germany," Carter countered.

"Non, but we can get rid of any in this hut. Everyone start searching this place, look behind the bunks, under everything. If you find any, kill them, and then we'll dump them outside." No one moved looking at LeBeau as if he'd lost his mind. "Allez maintenant!" The men in the barracks scattered carrying out their mission ensuring no crickets were left alive. LeBeau wasn't sure if they were searching strictly to help Olsen, or because they feared his wrath. It didn't matter as long as no crickets remained in the barracks.

Wilson, needing to perform his daily check on his patient, entered the building stunned to see the men pulling bunks out, and searching diligently. He tapped Kinch on the shoulder mouthing, "Bugs?"

"No, crickets," he answered. Confused, Wilson was unsure when cricket became the code word for listening devices. Seeing his confusion, Kinch explained what happened.

Wilson looked worried as he sat his bag on the table watching the Colonel's closed door. He knew better than to interrupt, but had a feeling he would be needed soon.

* * *

><p>Hogan, sitting on the floor next to Olsen, gently took both of Olsen's hands in both of his. "I see two arms here."<p>

"That's because you've only heard half the story," Olsen's voice barely above a whisper. Hogan let go of Olsen's arms urging him to continue with the explanation.

_The unbearable pain broke through to his unconscious mind bringing him around much too soon, unsure how long he'd been out cold. His eyes barely focusing, he looked around finding the three monsters working on something at the worktable where his arm still floated in the blue solution. Unable to move, his only option was to wait until they returned. As tears streamed from his eyes, he looked over at his left arm which stopped just below his elbow, his mind unable to process what had happened. Certain his death would occur today, he wondered if the men back at camp would ever find his body. Thoughts of his parents and siblings ran through his mind. He hoped his brothers, who were also fighting this damn forsaken war, would destroy Hitler's minions in revenge. He also hoped that his mother would never know how he was killed, because it would destroy her. A strange sound turned his attention back to the mad scientists; they continued to speak amongst themselves completely ignoring him. Olsen thought that was a good thing, positive he couldn't handle any more of their attention. One of them came back over to the surgical table lifting the severed arm in the air, and placed something underneath it. Olsen screamed out in pain. The other two joined their colleague carrying a frightening object. He looked back over seeing his arm still in that blue solution, so what the hell was this that looked like an arm in the scientist hands? _

"_No…no…no," he cried out lifting his head to get a better look. The one who jacked up his arm moved to his head, placing a strap over his forehead putting him completely at their mercy, unable to move a single part of his body. _

_They held the thing up to his arm making adjustments until satisfied. Next, they brought out medical instruments Olsen couldn't identify, but sent panic throughout his soul. They attached the cold slimy limb to his arm without the use of any type of anesthesia. The pain was worse than when they cut his arm off, if that were possible, making him wonder why he couldn't pass out again. Once it was attached, they used electrical probes on his upper arm to ensure the nerves and muscles responded appropriately. Something cold dug into his neck as his world went black. Then next thing he knew was waking up on the road near the emergency tunnel and desperately trying to get to safety. _

Hogan sat watching Olsen unsure what to think, running a hand over his face. It was clear Olsen believed every word of his story, but Hogan couldn't; his mind struggling to come up with some sort of logical solution, but failing at the moment.

"If I hadn't of lived it, I wouldn't believe me either. Still having a hard time getting my mind wrapped around everything, sir," Olsen said.

"Do you mind if we get off the floor?" Hogan asked stalling for time.

"Sure," the Sergeant responded as he moved to sit on the bunk and Hogan in the chair.

"I…I."

"You're wondering if I've totally lost my friggin' mind. So do I, sir."

Well that helped some. "No, I don't believe you have. I'm just trying to come up with a logical explanation of what happened. Would you mind if I brought Wilson in here?"

"If either of you can make sense out of this, I'm game."

Hogan stood, opening his door, not surprised to see Wilson sitting at the common table. "Joe, would you come in?" The rest of the men in the barracks watched anxiously for a sign indicating if Olsen was all right. Hogan gave them a slight nod before closing the door.

Observing both men, Wilson noticed Hogan appeared to be struggling with something. A complete switch from the usual unshakeable persona he normally projected. Olsen seemed exhausted, emotionally drained, and anxious all simultaneously.

"We've been going over what happened to Olsen last Tuesday," Hogan started then stopped for a moment before continuing. He gave a high-level overview of Olsen's story not going into the finer details. Wilson wasn't sure how to respond.

"You think I've lost my mind too," Olsen said to Wilson with a humorless chuckle. "Told you he would, sir," he added glancing at the Colonel.

Perturbed, he let his true feelings show through his professional demeanor. Wilson coughed to cover while slipping back into medic mode. "No, merely surprised."

"Don't worry, we all believe that," Olsen commented, pain showing visibly behind his eyes.

"Joe, what I'm wondering is if you have any medical explanation for what he remembers happening?"

Wilson crossed his arms thinking before responding, "Possibly. I suspect you were given some strong hallucinogenic drug or combination of drugs."

"So when the drugs clear from my system everything will be make sense?" Olsen asked with hope.

"No. The drugs would have cleared days ago, most likely within twenty-four hours after the injection, even though the effects might linger for months," Wilson took a seat on the remaining chair to explain. "What I'm talking about are drugs that altered reality in your mind. Obviously, the people who did this didn't want you able to identify them, so they administered the drugs to control you and make anything you remember sound crazy. Their hope perhaps would be the story sounded so outrageous no one would believe it. They may have gone so far as to introduce elements of the story to your drugged mind to ensure their goal was achieved."

"So nothing I remember is real?"

"Not necessarily. You would have tried to make sense of the surroundings as best as possible. The cricket sounds for example. I'd bet lots of crickets were around making racket," Wilson said.

"But during the daytime?" Hogan questioned. His mind already racing ahead with the possibility of such drugs making much more sense and an explanation London would accept.

"In the tunnels, there are always crickets hanging around. Perhaps their base of operation is in a cave, which would explain why no one has seen them, and why a large amount of crickets chirped during the day," Wilson stopped to see how the others were accepting his theory.

"I remember being cold, but not sure if that was from the blood loss or the ambient temperature," Olsen said.

"It could have been either or both possibilities. Do you remember anything about a cave or a tunnel?" Hogan asked.

"Maybe, I don't know…but the place definitely had electricity. Still it doesn't explain…how they… cut…hurt my arm," Olsen was unsure how to express his thought without sounding crazier.

"Doctor Prust and I discussed the injury at length coming up with an idea. You have deep marks at one-inch intervals encircling your forearm within the cauterization line. There is a legitimate medical procedure that leaves similar marks, which test muscle and nerve stimulus. I believe they went far beyond medical test standards and forced the needles deep into the muscles of your arm, then running an electrical current through it for some unknown reason. The sensation and pain would definitely feel like your arm was being removed. Obviously from your blood loss they hit a major artery and cut down into your arm to repair the artery and instead of sewing up your arm, cauterized it," Wilson explained.

"What scientific knowledge could be gained or come from such an experiment or procedure?" Hogan asked thinking back to Mittendoref's condition.

"I have no idea," Wilson answered truthfully.

* * *

><p>Schultz opened the door of the barracks visually accounting for the residents. "One of the guards told me there was some monkey business going on."<p>

"Non, no monkey business," LeBeau answered taking the lid off the pot to their dinner.

Schultz inhaled deeply before speaking, "Someone was yelling perhaps?"

"Olsen had a nightmare a little while ago," LeBeau answered causally shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh! Is he okay? Where is he?"

"In there," he pointed to the closed inner door. Taking a spoonful of food, he handed it to the guard. "Wilson and le Colonel are with him. How does it taste?"

"Wunderbar! May I have some more?"

"Not until it's ready. Come back later."

"Tell Olsen I hope he's okay. I'll come by after dinner," Schultz said leaving but not before taking another deep inhale of the aroma.

"Good way to get rid of him, but he'll be back _before_ dinner afraid of missin' out," Newkirk said securing the door after the guard left.

"True, but Olsen didn't need him in here right now," LeBeau glanced at the Colonel's door wishing the occupants would come out or he could enter.

* * *

><p>"The explanation makes sense but there are a couple of things that don't jive," Olsen shook his head unconvinced.<p>

"Such as?" Hogan asked.

"Do you remember last year when I fell and had to have stitches here?" he pointed to just above his left wrist. "The scar is gone."

"Scars fade," Wilson answered confused by the question.

"In a day? Two weeks ago, Porscha was running her fingers down the scar, after we, well, uh…it was there is the point," Olsen blushed slightly.

Wilson took the arm gently in his hands examining the area; the skin looked perfect as if the injury never occurred. "Are you sure it was there and she wasn't just exploring?"

"Yeah, I remember thinking about the contrast in the scar's color and her nail color." No one missed the smile he tried to hide remembering the afternoon. The extreme fatigue he couldn't hide as he leaned against the bedpost.

"Looks like you need to lie down for a while," Wilson said letting his arm go.

"You can use this bunk," Hogan said indicating where Olsen was sitting.

"Thank you sir, but I'd prefer my own bunk. Besides, I owe everyone an apology," Olsen replied standing up. He closed the door behind him leaving the small room.

Hogan ran a hand over his face, "I have to send him to London."

"He's not strong enough to make the trip yet, maybe in a week or two," Wilson said.

"That should be enough time to come up a plan to keep Klink's record intact and get Olsen home safely. I hate losing him this way," he blew out a deep breath.


	12. Compromise and Tragedy

"Mon Colonel, what can we do for Brian?" LeBeau pointed towards his friend sitting outside on a bench in the compound looking lost. Three days had passed since the cricket episode, and Olsen had been withdrawn and barely talking since, although there'd been no more repeats of the incident.

"We're going to find out who did this and put them out of business permanently," Hogan said resolutely watching the young man from the front of the barracks. "He's going to pull through. We just need to be there for him." He hadn't shared with the men or Olsen yet that the Sergeant would be sent to London for the type of professional care that they couldn't provide in Stalag 13 as soon as it was safe.

"Well, I'm going to sit with him and cheer him up," LeBeau declared.

"I think that's a great idea," Hogan gave him a nod of approval watching as the Frenchman march determinately towards the bench.

"Hey," LeBeau said sitting down on the bench next to his friend. Olsen gave him a small sad smile but didn't speak. They sat in companionable silence for quite some time before LeBeau tried to make conversation. "Looks like you're thinking about something serious. Care to share?"

"Been wondering about a buddy on my plane. I'm not sure if he even made it out of the plane alive or not," Olsen said quietly.

"Bob, right?" Olsen shook his head yes. "You've talked about him before. Any special reason he's on your mind now?" LeBeau asked.

"Had some weird dreams with him in them. Not sure if my mind's trying to remember something I've buried or if it's playing tricks on me. Can't trust my memory at all right now," he looked down dolefully.

"I think you're memory is fine. What type of dreams?"

"Bad ones, where he dies in the plane. Would be nice to know if he's alive," Olsen sighed staring out across the compound. He had the look on his face that men get when they become wire happy.

"I'm sure he did," LeBeau wasn't sure what else to say, so they sat quietly for several moments, until Olsen flexed his left hand. "How's the hand doing today?"

"You mean the hand that's not mine?" Olsen responded sarcastically. "I don't know, it's okay, I suppose."

"It may not be the one you were born with, but it is the hand you have now. At least you have two, instead of only one." Olsen looked at LeBeau as if he couldn't understand what the Frenchman was saying. "They could have sent you home with only one hand and where would you be then? You wouldn't even be able to tie your own boots. This hand will get stronger and you'll be able to use it normally. Then le Colonel will let you go back outside the wire and see Porscha. Think of all the things you and Porscha can do with two hands instead of one hand."

A slight grin appeared on Olsen's face. "I've been thinking about Porscha."

"Naturellement," LeBeau's eyes light up, perhaps he'd found a way to help motivate his friend.

"I'd like to hold her tight. I hadn't thought of if they'd only cut my arm off and didn't replace it," he shuddered. "Life would be pretty miserable never being able to put both arms around a woman again. It's just this thing makes me sick to look at it." He held up his left arm with the sling dangling. "I wish they'd never found me to begin with."

"Oui, so do I, but we can't change what has occurred no matter how hard we désir...ahh…wish. All we can do is to find a way to make the best of the new situation and move forward."

"Everyone thinks I'm nuts because of what I remember happening!"

"Non! That's not true."

"The Colonel and Wilson do. I think they're planning to send me to England once this is all over. I don't want to go, because I'd be branded a lunatic for life," Olsen kicked at the dirt in anger.

"You're not crazy. I believe you, so if the others don't than we have to show them how wrong they are."

"How?" his tone imparting confusion, anger, and pain.

LeBeau pursed his lips thinking. "By showing that you accept this arm as yours. My mother used to wear wigs, and if someone asked her if her hair was a wig or her own hair, she'd always reply it was her hair. Then she'd wink and say, she bought the wig so it was her hair, she owned it. The arm might not be your original arm, but it's the one you have now, so it's yours just as the wigs were my mother's own hair. Talk to Wilson about exercises to strengthen the muscles so you can regain full use of the arm. Once you've recovered your strength and proven to the Colonel that you're back to a hundred percent, he'll let you go back outside the wire where Porscha is waiting."

"You might have something there. I don't think I shouldn't say anything else about what I remember and just agree the drugs have my memory confused."

"Oui that might also be good. However, any time you wish to talk about it, I'll listen and we can discuss any details you want. Don't forget, I completely believe your story. The Boche are far more advanced with medicine, and we've heard rumors of the horrible experiments they've done. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if they can recreate an arm. I bet they're trying to perfect the method to get men back on the battlefield quickly."

"Thanks, your confidence in me means a lot. I hope they don't perfect the chemical that turned the Gestapo man's blood to sand. There would be no reason for men to be fighting on a battlefield. How could you fight an army with something like…?"

"Oui…I agree."

"I'm going to see Wilson," Olsen stood with a slight smile left.

LeBeau had a wide grin on his face, and a mission to complete himself. He went back the barracks finding Newkirk and Kinch inside sitting at the common table playing cards. "When will London be back on the air?"

"Shortly, why?" Kinch asked suspiciously eyeing the Frenchman.

"I have an assignment for them. We need to find out what happened to Olsen's best friend, Sergeant Bob Armstrong. They flew in the same plane."

"And why would London give us the information?" Newkirk asked with a raised brow.

"Because it would help Olsen to know his friend is alive and okay. We can make up a story for them on why we need the information. Right now, Olsen needs some good news," LeBeau replied.

"What happens if the man is dead?" Kinch asked seriously.

"Then we don't tell him. Or at least we wait until he's stronger. But I have a gut feeling that he's alive and all right. Even if he's in a POW camp, maybe we can get word to him. At least Olsen will know he's alive. Come on, let's go talk to London," LeBeau urged.

"Can't do it. The Gov'nor is downstairs talking to Bluebird on the radio and he ran us both out of the area. We'll have to wait until he comes upstairs. What d'ya think Kinch, will London do it?"

"They've answered similar requests in the past. Don't see why they wouldn't this time, and it would be a good morale boost for Olsen. All we can do is try," Kinch said thinking through how to word the request. They all wanted to do something to help Olsen.

* * *

><p>Hogan ran everyone out of the radio room and immediate vicinity before switching the radio frequency used by the Gestapo underground agent Captain Fuchs known as Bluebird. He placed the headphones on making the connection.<p>

"I read you, Papa Bear," Bluebird's voice came across the wire. "How is your wounded cub recovering?"

"Slowly, but he is alive and healing. Has any progress been made in the investigation?" Hogan asked with bated breath.

"Ja, we may have found the break we needed," Bluebird stopped trying to decide what he could say and what was safe to put on the airwaves. "Another body has been found."

"What happened?"

_Major Hochstetter drove his staff car to the far north side of town to investigate a strange reporting. The report stated an unusual light had been seen in the area along with a foul smell. With all the strange deaths in town, he was pretty sure what the smell would turn out to be, but being short of manpower decided to perform the investigation personally. He passed the last of the houses slowing his car to a crawl rolling down the windows. He drove along the road for another half a mile or so before stopping and continuing on foot. Both sides of the road had tall grass making the indented part easy to spot. Nearly fifty yards off the right side the grass was flattened with scavenger birds circling the area. He parted the grass making a trail to the body coming to a sudden stop upon seeing it. The condition of the body made him vomit violently through his mouth and nose, dropping to his knees as a second wave overtook him. Half-crawling away from the area, he made it back to his car radioing for help. When the men arrived, he was still sitting in his car shaking not having returned to the body. Every man responding had a similar reaction. Photographing and securing the crime scene took nearly six hours before they could remove the body without contaminating the area anymore. Once the body had been placed in body bags, they were transported to the hospital. _

"I wasn't in town when the call came in; instead I was out inspecting the caves to the west you requested we check out. No one has been in them for a while, and the hidden underground supplies are still safe," Bluebird said.

"That's good news. Who was the person?"

"We're not able to identify the body, due to the amount of destruction although she was a young woman. I've seen Hochstetter in just about every mood possible, but never like this before. He was traumatized by her injuries. The body is in the morgue, which I'm avoiding. The pictures are bad enough," Bluebird closed his eyes trying to rid his mind of the photos of the pieces the body.

"Sounds like a horrible situation," Hogan said in shock. "Are there any clues as to her identity?"

"A young woman most likely in her mid-twenties with very long dark curly hair," Bluebird read off the description from his notes. "Men are going through the files trying to find anyone who meets that description so we can do a welfare check on them. So far, no one meeting the description has been reported as missing. But if she lived alone as suspected, it maybe days before anyone knows she's missing."

Hogan shook his head, "You said long dark curly hair?"

"Ja."

"What color were her eyes?"

"Brown, I believe. Why? Do you have an idea of who she might be?"

"I hope not, but there's someone I'd like you to check on and report back to me, and to me only. Don't give the information to any of my men."

"Who is it?"

"Fraulein Porscha Herz, she's not a member of the underground, so make sure your cover is intact. However, she is important to Olsen. They've been dating for about a year, and she lives near where the body was found. I hope to heaven I'm wrong," Hogan let out a sigh. This wasn't news he wanted to give Olsen in his current condition or anytime.

"I will let you know soon. One good thing came out today. We now have a good idea of who the perpetrators are. Hochstetter's anger got Berlin to send a mixed company of field and infantry support to arrive late tonight. If everything goes well, the people doing this will be in custody or dead within twenty-four hours."

"That's a lot of fire and manpower. Who do you suspect?" Hogan asked shocked at the news, but grateful for a solid lead.

"A group of scientists are working out at the SS facility, enjoying SS protection. We intend upon surrounding the compound and bringing the scientists in for questioning. Hopefully there won't be any resistance, but we'll be prepared. Berlin is not happy with the experiments; they want them stopped and an answer on why they were carried out in the first place. As to what the true motives are, I'd guess is that Command isn't happy anyone could keep a secret this big from them for this long. As long as the experiments stop, I don't care about the politics," Bluebird said.

"Please be careful tonight," Hogan's voice imparting worry for his friend.

"I will be, and I'll let you know if Fraulein Herz is safe as soon as I can," Bluebird said then signed off the air.

Hogan took the headphones off and folded his arms on the table lying his head on top of his arms. He could only hope Olsen's girlfriend wasn't the latest victim, and would say nothing about the victim to the men until they knew for sure.


	13. Deception and Disobedience

Olsen stopped in front of the infirmary, knowing he needed to do this to prove he wasn't insane. But part of him was angry that he needed to prove to anyone that he was sane. Granted, his story sounded nuts, but it was the absolute truth. Even if hallucinogenic drugs were involved, this thing attached to his left arm wasn't his birth arm. But no one believed him. And even if LeBeau said he did, Olsen knew part of him had doubts. How could he not? Heck, he'd have the same reaction if the situation was reversed and LeBeau had been the one to lose an arm. He looked down at both arms shaking his head, as LeBeau said; at least he had two arms. No such opportunity existed for men wounded in battle to have an arm replaced. Perhaps the technology could be stolen from the Germans and used to help wounded Allied soldiers to live better lives. There were definite possibilities for improving a lot of Allied lives if they were able to confiscate the equipment and send it to London, then something good would come out of his horrendous experience. Porscha came to his mind. She was the woman whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and if the Colonel sent him home as a basket case, they'd most likely never see each other again. His grandfather's sage advice when something didn't work out the way he hoped while growing up came back to him. _'Brian, find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain*.'_ Porscha brought the joy in his life, and being with her would burn out any pain. He would do whatever it took to get back to her. "Suck it up, Brian," he said aloud before walking into the infirmary protruding an attitude more confident than he felt.

Wilson looked up from his paperwork as Olsen entered the building immediate concern showing. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Do you have some time to talk?"

Wilson indicated for him to sit down in the chair in front of his desk. They were the only two in the building. "What's on your mind?"

"I've been giving some serious thought to the explanation of hallucinogenic drugs causing me to not remember what really happened. Have you ever experienced such drugs?" Olsen tried not to fidget.

"Not personally, but I've treated men who have and they all say everything seemed so real while under the influence of the drugs," Wilson sat back watching him closely. Olsen seemed calm on the outside, but the conversation was obviously a struggle for him.

"Oh yeah, the experience can turn your entire world upside down. I understand no such technology exists which can recreate an arm, and no way to attach one if such a thing existed either. However such advances would be great for battlefield injuries, think how many men would be able to lead normal lives if something like that could ever be created."

"That's for sure. If the Germans had anything even close to being able to do what you remember, the Colonel would ensure the machines got into the right hands. This is a different attitude than you had a couple of days ago. Why the change?"

"Had some time to think over the memories rationally and whatever I was given has must have cleared out of my body. My mind is clearer, making me not as emotional, and I'm stronger physically. The arm isn't hurting like it was, but it's still weak. What can I do to build the strength back up so I have full use of it again?" Olsen asked with a straight face, pushing his rising fear about touching the arm back down.

"How is the nausea when you touch your left hand?" Wilson didn't miss Olsen saying 'the arm' and not 'my arm'.

"Less than before," Olsen lied.

Wilson stood up moving next to Olsen, who took his arm out of the sling, placing it on the desk for the medic to examine. "The color has improved and the swelling has decreased immensely. When you hold the arm naturally at your side, does that cause discomfort?"

Olsen stood up and let his arm hang at a normal angle. "Not pain but the muscles feel tight around the incision."

"Exactly what I'd expect. Your hand is touching your leg, is that causing nausea?"

"No," Olsen answered truthfully.

"Try running your hand up and down your leg," he watched both Olsen's hand and face for the real answer.

"Nothing and a few days ago the same action was intolerable."

"Try bending it at the elbow straight up." Olsen compiled with no problems then returned his arm to a natural stance. "Now, place your right hand on your left hand." Olsen winced when the hands made contact. "What are you experiencing?"

"Not exactly pain, but not quite sure how to describe the sensation. Some burning up the arm and a bit of nausea. Is the nausea all in my head?" Olsen asked dreading the answer as he moved his hands apart.

"The burning sensation indicates the nerves are still inflamed which very easily could cause some nausea. Do you believe the nausea is psychosomatic?" Wilson asked point blank.

"Maybe some of it. Just touching my arm has brought a lot of pain until the last couple of days. Might the nausea be my body's way of saying to not do anything to increase the pain level?"

"Possibly, it's only been eight days since the injury, and you're doing remarkably well. I don't want to rush into physical therapy because your muscles and nerves need more time to heal. However, using the sling less and flexing your hand with simple range of motion movements should be fine. Picking up a cup filled with anything might be too much right now, but practicing picking up an empty cup is an acceptable exercise. Anything that causes pain or swelling back off and rest your arm, we don't want to cause a re-injury."

"Thanks," Olsen folded the sling up, stuffing it in his pocket. "And thanks for helping me to understand what really happened. Even I couldn't accept what my mind was telling me."

"Any time you want to talk about what you remember, what the drugs did to you, or anything else, I'm available. It's going to take time to process everything," Wilson said happy with the improvement in Olsen.

"I'll keep that in mind. LeBeau and I've talked a lot which has helped. I only hope the culprits are found quickly, before anyone else is hurt. I might not be strong enough to take them down yet, but I'd sure like to see it happen."

"A lot of people would, including me. Don't worry, it'll happen soon. Between, the Gestapo, Bluebird, and the Colonel, they'll be caught."

"I'll let you get back to what you were doing. Thanks," Olsen shook Wilson's hand before leaving feeling better than he expected to after the exam.

Wilson watched him leave impressed by the change, although there was still a long road to recovery ahead, this was a positive step forward. He'd inform the Colonel later, maybe, just maybe, Olsen wouldn't need to be sent to England.

* * *

><p>Hogan climbed up the ladder to find the men sitting at the table.<p>

"Does Bluebird have any information?" Kinch asked.

"A new lead has developed which he's going to follow through on," Hogan said, closing the tunnel entrance. "Our cave is clear and the supplies haven't been touched."

"Anyone else gone missin'?" Newkirk asked.

"No one reported," Hogan answered vaguely wanting to keep the newest victim a secret until her identity had been established or Porscha found safe. "Where is Olsen?"

"He went to see Wilson about getting some exercises to strengthen his arm. He's doing a lot better. Mon Colonel, when Bluebird finds these Boche monsters what will happen to the equipment they used on Olsen?"

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked.

"If they have equipment that can recreate and reattach an arm, shouldn't we send all of it to London instead of leaving such things in Boche hands?"

"You can't seriously believe that stuff really exists?" Newkirk asked looking at LeBeau as if he'd gone nuts too.

"It's possible, the Germans are creative. Look how far they're coming with Atomic research," LeBeau defended his statement.

"LeBeau, I'd like nothing more than to send such research to London but it doesn't exist. I don't want you encouraging Olsen with this nonsense," Hogan ordered.

"Don't worry, he doesn't believe his memory anymore. He says since the drugs have finally cleared his system he can understand how crazy the story sounds," LeBeau said.

"Well, that's a relief to hear," Kinch sighed. Then, he looked at Hogan. "When you came upstairs you looked as if you'd received bad news. Did Bluebird report anything else, sir?"

"Nothing to worry about. I need to run some errands," Hogan sidestepped the question before leaving the hut. He'd decided if the latest victim turned out to be Porscha, not to tell Olsen until he was safely in a hospital in England. If Porscha had been killed in such a manner that threw Hochstetter off his game, it would destroy Olsen. And Hogan feared after learning such news, given his current state, his Sergeant might attempt to take his own life. For now, he'd keep Bluebird's news to himself. He continued on to the infirmary to get Wilson's input on when Olsen would be strong enough to go home.

* * *

><p>Seconds after the door closed behind Hogan, the men were climbing down the ladder. Kinch turned the speaker on as he tried to contact London; unfortunately, they weren't on the air yet.<p>

"I'll start dinner," LeBeau said heading back upstairs.

"It might be a while before their online, so I'll try again later," Kinch said shutting the radio down.

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me, Doctor?"<p>

"Yes, what is the status of test subject X19?"

"He's still alive."

"Have him brought back to the lab in the morning. He's had sufficient time to recover. It's time to proceed with the next step in the experiment."

"He'll be secured in the laboratory at that time, sir," he bowed slightly before leaving his commander's office.

* * *

><p>Kinch climbed up into the barracks after lights out giving LeBeau a nod their request had been passed along to command.<p>

"Did London have anything for us?" Hogan asked standing in his doorway.

"No sir, but they did want us to keep them informed of any progress in the investigation," Kinch answered changing into his nightclothes.

"Hopefully we'll have some news for them soon. Good night gentlemen," Hogan said looking around ensuring everyone was where they belonged. After hearing the same from all his men, except Carter who'd been asleep for twenty minutes, he closed his door.

Thirty minutes later, snores could be heard around the barracks as Olsen propped up on one elbow making sure everyone was asleep. Once convinced, he stood and dressed, then quietly knelt by LeBeau's bunk shaking him. LeBeau, startled, started to cry out when Olsen placed a finger over LeBeau's lips to hush him.

"What's going on?" LeBeau asked sitting up.

"Need your help," Olsen sat on LeBeau's bunk speaking in hushed tones. "I'm going out of camp."

"You can't, le Colonel said no one goes outside the wire until this situation is resolved."

"I think I know where these bastards are hiding, and I need to warn Porscha. She lives alone."

"Then let's tell le Colonel so he can have Bluebird check it out. We can get someone in the underground to check on her and warn her."

"I'm tired of hiding while others do our job! If a Gestapo officer showed up at her home or work, it would scare her. No, warning her is something I need to do in person. Now I'm going and I need your help," Olsen said.

"The tunnel entrances are blocked for a reason. If you open them up then everyone is placed at great risk. Plus you can't get up and down the ladder with your arm," LeBeau countered, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"There's no way I'd put anyone else in danger. I'll go out under the wire, but I might need a distraction and that's where you come in."

"You can't go out alone; it's too dangerous, and that's when they get everyone!"

"They're not even going to know I'm there. I know about them this time, and will stay out of sight. Trust me, I never want to be in their hands again. So will you cover for me so I can get out of here?"

"The Colonel will be angry."

"He'll get over it when I bring back the information to take these bastards down. Besides I'll be back before roll call so he won't know until I return."

"Le Colonel will have us thrown in the cooler."

"He can do a lot to us, but the cooler isn't an option."

"Believe me, he'll find a way."

"I'm going with or without you."

LeBeau stared at Olsen; he was no rat and wouldn't turn his friend in, but this was blatant disobeying of orders. There was too much danger in Olsen going out alone with the filthy Boche only half the danger. Olsen wasn't strong enough to accomplish what he was proposing. He knew this was a really bad idea, "Oui. I'll go with you."

* * *

><p>* Quote by Joseph Campbell<p> 


	14. Plans Foiled

"No one is going anywhere," Kinch said sitting up wiping his eyes.

"Not alone they ain't," Newkirk said hopping from his bunk. "It's about damn time we do something besides sit on our arse. Andrew, wake up, we're going out." He reached down shaking his friend.

"No we're not going out," Kinch repeated with his most authoritative voice.

The door to the Colonel's room opened, the Colonel stood just over the threshold in his pajamas, barefoot, arms folded with the most crossed angry look the men had seen projected towards them in a long time. "Kinch is right. No one is leaving this camp." The Colonel rarely came out of his room without his robe, so they knew they were in serious trouble.

"Where are we going?" Carter asked propped up on one elbow more asleep than awake.

"Go back to sleep, Carter," Hogan ordered. "Gentlemen, what do you think you're doing?"

"Sir we can't just sit around and hope things work out. We need to be out there making sure the bastards are taken down," Newkirk's eyes and voice full of passion.

"Is that how you all feel?" Hogan asked. LeBeau, Newkirk, and Olsen enthusiastically answered yes. Kinch shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head yes. "In my office, _now_," the Colonel's voice was too controlled and even. They all knew this wouldn't be good.

Carter had managed to sit up, feet on the floor, right elbow on his knee, with his head in his hand, and eyes half closed mumbled. "What are we doing?"

"Go back to sleep," Newkirk gave him a shove back into his bunk. No need for Carter to be chewed out for a plot, which he was too asleep comprehend. Although had he been awake, Newkirk was positive, he would have jumped in on the ill-advised plan.

Carter was back asleep before the Colonel closed his door with the four errant team members standing in his room. Each looked as if they'd been sent to the principal's office for a grave offense. The Colonel turned the desk lamp on, so they could easily see each other.

"All right, let's hear it," Hogan stood, his feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, command face firmly in place with anger protruding from his stance.

"It's my fault, sir. They shouldn't be here," Olsen stepped up to protect his friends.

"From what I heard the right men are here. Are there more we should invite?" Hogan asked.

"No, sir," they all responded in unison.

"I'm waiting," Hogan said a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"There's an old castle nobody lives in about two miles out on the east side of camp. Seven or eight weeks ago, an electrical line was run to it. Each time I went by the gates had been opened until six weeks ago when it was closed up tight. Never seen anyone come in or out, but there's a back road which is more like a trail actually. But a vehicle could pass without detection and leads out near the road where they found me. I wanted to scout the area getting the intel so we could take them down," Olsen explained.

"So against orders, you decided to take this upon yourselves?" Hogan looked at each of the men.

"Gov'nor, we're frustrated sittin' back doing nothing, while civilians go about doing our jobs. We're supposed to protect them, not the other way around," Newkirk said shifting slightly under Hogan's icy stare.

"We should be the ones investigating these places. That's what we're trained to do," LeBeau's hands animating his words.

"Out manned and out gunned, you want to barge in and take down who knows how many well-armed and highly trained skilled men?" Hogan asked.

"Oui!"

"Sir, we're always outnumbered and have lesser fire power, but we can plant explosives destroying their facility. We've done it before," Kinch said.

"We could destroy the place once it's located and perhaps kill those responsible. However, the same experiments are occurring in two locations, so just exploding one won't shut down the project. London needs the notes and scientific information so they can develop a defense against the chemical that turned a man's blood solid. Or did you forget about that experiment?" Hogan asked.

LeBeau looked down at the ground knowing to challenge Hogan on his belief in Prust's observation, but not believing Olsen, a living first hand witness, was a seriously bad idea. But he had a hard time reconciling the hypocritical difference. Perhaps the man's blood had just dried up. However, even he had to admit, Prust, as a physician would know the difference.

"No, sir, we haven't forgotten. We feel like we're hiding nice and safe inside camp while innocent people are putting their lives in danger," Newkirk said.

"Let's exam that supposition, shall we?" Hogan began to pace around the small room. "The underground are making observations, watching places like the grocer, the local watering holes, and gasoline supply depots for unusual activities or newcomers. They're not investigating possible hiding places. Perhaps you're referring to the Gestapo? Bluebird is a good man, but hardly any more innocent than we are. Did you mean the rest of the 'innocent' men in the Gestapo?" Newkirk meekly shook his head no. "I didn't think so. This is bigger than we can handle and has the entire German General Staff up in arms. A company of mixed artillery and infantry troops should be arriving…." Hogan stopped looking at his watch, "…in about any time now. Were you planning on being the welcoming committee?"

"An entire company, sir?" Olsen asked swallowing hard. The other men also shifted uncomfortably at the news.

"Yes. They believe the SS are hiding these monsters, so they're taking on the SS tonight. Does anyone want to be in the middle of that or wait until they've been exposed? At which time the paperwork will have a special escort to Berlin. And if I don't have too many interruptions, we'll have a plan to hijack the truck carrying the paperwork London wants. Now gentlemen, is there anything else we need to discuss?" Hogan asked stopping in front of his door. The men's faces all showed they understand their error and weren't going to repeat it. "Now I'd suggest each of you get some rest, because we'll have short notice when we need to be ready to stop that truck." Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk quietly filed out the door, but Hogan closed it leaving him and Olsen alone. "Do I need to be concerned about any extracurricular activities tonight?"

"No, sir. I'm really sorry, sir," Olsen said standing face to face with Hogan.

"Good," Hogan gave him a nod of approval. "Find someone and talk this out tomorrow. If you can't find someone, I'm always available," Hogan ordered finally letting him leave.

Outside in the common room, Olsen faced his friends. "I'm sorry fellas."

"No need to be, you weren't thinking anything the rest of us weren't," Newkirk said climbing back onto his bunk.

Olsen nodded his head in relief as he changed back into his nightclothes. LeBeau stood beside him, "You must tell le Colonel."

"I will," he sat down on his bed.

"Tomorrow," LeBeau gave him a warning look.

"_Tomorrow?"_ panic appeared on Olsen's face.

"Oui, or I'll be forced too. And I don't want to do that."

Olsen slowly nodded his head, "I promise." Then lay down on his bed falling asleep quickly. LeBeau sighed wearily climbing into his own bunk knowing Olsen would finally speak with the Colonel.

Newkirk lay staring at the rafters above his bunk unable to sleep. His mind wandered back to when Olsen first arrived.

* * *

><p>Olsen had been in camp for about three weeks, but Newkirk kept his distance because they didn't expect the Sergeant to live. He'd seen too many buddies he'd known for a long time die, the heartache fresh in his mind. He didn't want the pain of becoming close to someone else with one foot in the grave. LeBeau had gone to prepare the Kommandant's lunch in exchange for the day's glass of milk for Olsen, and Newkirk found himself alone with the Sergeant.<p>

"Care for a game of cards?" Newkirk held out his special deck of cards.

"Sounds good to me," Olsen laid the book down he'd been reading. He'd been able to stand in roll call for a few days and just beginning to be strong enough to move around camp.

The men sat at the table with Newkirk dealing out a hand thinking it would be an easy way to take whatever money Olsen had on him. They played making small talk for a while when a couple of men came into the barracks. Next, something that had never happened to Newkirk before occurred, Olsen went out on him winning the game.

"Let me see those cards," Newkirk was astounded digging through the hand of gin Olsen dropped. Sure enough, Olsen had gin. Newkirk looked at him as if he'd stolen the crown jewels. "Beginners luck, care to go again?"

"Sure, you deal," Olsen smiled at him stretching his arms.

Newkirk dealt the cards positive he'd win the next hand, but was amazed when Olsen beat him again with his 'specially marked' deck of cards. By that time, a crowd had gathered around watching, because no one had ever won before when using Newkirk's cards. Olsen won the next three hands pissing Newkirk off.

"You're cheatin'," Newkirk tossed his cards down losing the last game in frustration unable to understand.

"You're the one shuffling and dealing the cards. How am I cheating?" Olsen smirked. He'd paid careful attention to the games of cards Newkirk played while recuperating.

"I don't know, but no one beats me at my own game," Newkirk said angrily. Somehow, he'd learned how the cards were marked.

"Want to change decks?" Olsen asked with mirth in his eyes.

"Barnes, didn't we get a new deck of cards that ain't been opened yet?" Newkirk asked. The Corporal produced the new deck still in the original wrapper from a Red Cross package. They played another hand, this time Newkirk barely won. The next game, Olsen began winning, so Newkirk tossed the cards down irritably not wanting to play again. He left the barracks walking outside with a cigarette dangling from his mouth finally sitting down under a shade tree.

A few minutes later, Olsen joined him sitting side by side.

"How did ya know?" Newkirk asked realizing he wasn't truly angry, but more shocked at being beaten at his own game.

"Pretty standard marking techniques, not unlike what I'd use," Olsen smiled.

"Those cards are my own invention!"

"Only so many ways to ensure you know what your opponent has," Olsen said.

"Fancy yourself a card shark?" Newkirk asked gaining new respect for the man.

"Not really, but I have brothers and had to learn somehow to win," Olsen answered pulling out the fresh deck of cards. With a wicked grin he asked, "How do you think we should ensure we both continue to win with these?" The two men spent the next hour marking the new deck of cards.

* * *

><p>Olsen was as much a card shark as he was and the men found the basis on which to start a friendship, Newkirk remembered laughing slightly to himself. He turned over allowing unconsciousness to lull him away.<p>

Schultz came into the barracks bellowing for them to get up in what seemed like seconds after the men closed their eyes. Hogan came out of his office, pleased to see all the men were present and had slept through the night. Olsen, however, didn't make eye contact and seemed agitated.

"Colonel Hogan, a guard told me a light was on during the night. What were you doing?" Schultz asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hogan crossed his arms and with a wicked grin on his face asked, "Do you really want to know?"

Schultz puckered his lips then shook his head no. "Nein, just keep the light off so the Kommandant doesn't find out." Then he bellowed as he left the barracks, "Outside in five minutes for roll call!"

Right after breakfast, Olsen left the barracks before Hogan could speak with him.

Mid-morning Wilson entered the barracks, "Anyone seen Olsen?"

"Not in a couple of hours," LeBeau answered looking up from the deck of cards he was shuffling.

"What's up?" Hogan asked as he and Kinch came out of his office.

"Looking for Olsen, he was supposed to stop by the infirmary this morning but never showed up," Wilson said.

"He hasn't been in the barracks since right after breakfast," Carter said looking up from his bunk.

Hogan's gut had a bad feeling; he pinched the bridge of his nose before ordering. "Scatter and find him, now." To himself thinking, _he'd better not have left camp_!

* * *

><p>"Doctor, the test subject is secured in the laboratory."<p>

"Very good. Did you have any trouble retrieving him?"

"No sir, he made it very easy. We picked him up in the exact same spot he was found in originally."

"I'll be there in a few moments," the doctor dismissed his underling. The future of the entire project depended on the results of the next experiment; he felt no remorse for the way test subject X19 was about to die.


	15. Following Orders

Hogan paced around the barracks, frustrated after all the occupants had dispersed in search of Sergeant Olsen.

"Sir, what do you think he did?" Wilson asked worried about both his commander and patient.

"If he left this camp after being directly ordered to not, it will take him thirty years to make private!" Hogan came to a stop at the front door. "I'll be back," he said as he left the building in search of his missing man. Once outside, he stopped to consider where Olsen might have gone under the wire making his way to the most likely spot. He inspected the dirt around the wire, but didn't see any disturbance a man might have left by lifting the wire. Next, he turned heading to the next probable spot with purposeful strides.

"Colonel Hogan, is something wrong?" Chaplain Brett Somers asked quietly walking up alongside his commander.

"Got a missing man," Hogan replied, his voice tightly controlled.

"May I ask whom?"

"Olsen."

Somers stopped Hogan in his tracks placing a hand on his shoulder, smiling gently at him. "Part of my job as the spiritual leader of this group of men, is to ease the mind and comfort the soul of each one of my flock. And sir, I believe I can do that for you now. Sergeant Olsen is in the chapel. He's been there for a couple of hours. We talked for a long time, and then he asked for some time alone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. My door is open to all the men, including you if you ever want to talk," Somers watched the tension drain out of Hogan.

"Thank you," Hogan sighed deeply. Olsen had actually done what Hogan ordered him to do. He walked around for a few minutes calming down before going in the direction of the chapel.

Kinch met up with him. "Sir, we haven't had any luck."

"You can tell everyone to stand down. I know where he is and everything's fine," Hogan said.

"That's a relief," Kinch released a tense breath.

Hogan continued onto his destination taking a deep breath before entering the building. He didn't usually jump to conclusions without all the facts, but the last two weeks hadn't been the typical. Unable to even begin to get a handle on these people was starting to affect him in ways he didn't like. He could only hope the Gestapo had arrested the correct men last night, and this would all be over within the next few days.

Olsen sat at the front, his hat on a chair next to him, looking up when he heard the door open. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"Wilson is looking for you," Hogan answered taking a seat next to his lost man.

"Oh yeah, I haven't made it over to the infirmary yet. Needed some time alone with the Big Guy upstairs first," Olsen answered confused why Hogan would be looking for him and not one of the men. He didn't have a specific time to meet with Wilson, so why was anyone looking for him at all at nine thirty in the morning?

"We all need to take time for that from time to time," Hogan smiled gently noticing Olsen appeared a little fragile. "Did it help?"

"Yes," Olsen nodded shyly. "Is there something else, sir?"

Hogan sat back not wanting to delve into the fact he thought Olsen might have taken off out of camp yet. He trusted him, and he'd never really done anything to break the trust. "You looked like you didn't sleep well at breakfast, but left the barracks before I had a chance to ask you about it."

"Sorry, sir," Olsen looked down at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Nightmares?" Hogan asked. Olsen didn't want to answer the question biting the inside of his lip. "I'd be more worried if you weren't having them." Olsen looked up at him in surprise. "Seriously, it's not a bad thing. Think about the men who come in here and appear to have it all together, without nightmares. They're the ones we have to watch out for, because when they finally lose it, they fall hard."

"Hadn't thought about it that way. But it's something I can handle," Olsen said fidgeting.

"I have no doubts you can. Just remember, it's not something you have to handle alone."

"Brett and I were talking about that earlier. Everyone's been great, especially LeBeau. I think he spends half his time in here, because Brett speaks French like a Frenchman even though he's Canadian."

"Wouldn't be surprised at all."

"Sir, there's something else I need to tell you," he sighed knowing this conversation had to happen, but wishing for a way out of it while keeping his promise to LeBeau. Hogan raised an eyebrow indicating for him to continue. "While I was being held against my will," he started, then stopped, pondering the possible outcomes and the right wording. "When the experiment was being done on my arm, I…I can't be sure I didn't speak in English." He looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry I didn't bring it to your attention earlier. It's possible I endangered the operation."

Hogan sat back choosing his words carefully. "I'd be surprised if you didn't speak out in English, any one of us could have done the same thing. That's something I considered when you came back to camp and prepared for that contingency. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Evidently you were able to stay in character, because no one has come looking for you," Hogan said impressed with the honesty. Why it didn't matter if Olsen cried out in English while being tortured was just one on a long list of unanswered questions. So why hadn't the Germans been around questioning his men? Why was it more important to keep the experiments quiet instead of chasing down a possible Allied spy? Or did Olsen not cry out in English? He was tired of questions and wanted some answers.

"You're not surprised?"

"It's always a possibility and a weak point of men captured and tortured. No matter how strong you are, at some point, everyone is going to break and the operation endangered. We've been lucky thus far. War is a dangerous business," Hogan said.

"Thanks sir," Olsen nodded his head. Then standing up said, "I suppose I should go see Wilson."

"Next time you're going to be gone for a while, tell someone where you're going," Hogan ordered staying seated.

"You didn't think I'd left camp after last night, did you sir?" Olsen looked concerned. Hogan shrugged his shoulders. "I gave you my word, sir. That's not something I'd go back on."

"I believe you. We've just had a couple of strange weeks," Hogan admitted as sort of an apology.

"Yes, sir, that we have," Olsen wasn't truly upset because the thought had crossed his mind again this morning, and that's when he decided to seek out the chaplain. Hogan had every right to be worried. "I should get over to the infirmary."

Hogan sat watching Olsen leave the building running a hand through his slightly graying hair. The war had to end soon, or his men were going to turn all his hair gray. His mind wandered back to the beginning of the operation.

* * *

><p>The Traveler's Aid Society was barely a couple of weeks old, not yet in the position to send Allied Airmen back to England, but things were beginning to take shape when Olsen approached his commander.<p>

"Sir, when I was out of camp about three weeks ago, I made contact with Oscar Schnitzer, the town vet. He's also in charge of the guard dogs out here," Olsen was seated across from the table from Hogan in the common room.

"Did he recognize you?" Hogan asked concerned for his welfare.

"Yes sir, we've known each other for many years, Oscar and my father have been friends my entire life. I grew up in country from age five to fourteen and spent summers at his home until we went back to the States in 1935. Oscar was changing the guard dogs when I walked by and he was visibly shaken to see me here, so Newkirk and the others covered for me while I went to check on him. Oscar is the leader of the newly forming underground in Hammelburg, which wasn't much of a surprise given how he feels about Hitler. I believe he could be a valuable asset in the program we're trying to start," Olsen explained.

"That's good intel; do you think he'd be willing to work with us?"

"I'm sure of it, and he has an official sanctioned radio with spare parts, which we could use to build our radio. I'd like your permission to go out tonight and pick up the parts, so Kinch can see if he can get us up and running," Olsen asked with expectancy on his face.

"Why does he have the radio?"

"He provides vicious guard dogs to the Gestapo and the military."

"Vicious," Hogan laughed slightly. "One got loose the other day, ran up to me, holding out his paw to play. When I bent down to scratch his head, he licked my face."

"Did you notice how he treated the guard who came to retrieve him, sir?" Hogan nodded his head. "That's how they've all been trained, friendly towards the Allies, and unfriendly towards the German forces."

Hogan gave him permission to leave camp for twenty-four hours while they kept his outside trip secret from the guards. Olsen came back with not only the radio parts, but also troop movements he observed in town. Turned out the Sergeant had a natural talent for gathering intelligence on German movements, and finding weaknesses in the German defenses which they exploited with sabotage. Many times, he'd brought back information which allowed them to blow up valuable targets, setting the German war effort back many months.

* * *

><p>His talents made Olsen the perfect outside man, and Hogan hoped he'd be able to continue in the position. However, it all depended upon Olsen's ability to recover and if Bluebird had good news about Porscha. If the woman killed was Porscha, Hogan felt he'd have no choice but to send Olsen to London. An order he wasn't looking forward to giving. He said a prayer for a little help in this situation before returning to the barracks.<p>

* * *

><p>Late in the afternoon, LeBeau climbed up the ladder, stepping over the bunk edge with a huge grin on his face clutching a sheet of paper.<p>

"You look like Hitler just surrendered to you personally," Olsen teased pouring the last of the coffee into his cup.

"Not quite, but something almost as good," LeBeau beamed.

"Do tell."

LeBeau sat down across from his friend grinning from ear to ear. "I gave Kinch a mission to get some information from London a few days ago. They came through today." He passed the paper over to Olsen.

Olsen picked up the paper unfolding it, reading the written words, scarcely believing his eyes. He looked up in shock at the Frenchman, "Is it true?"

"Oui mon ami, quite true! Bob is alive and in the United States."

"How?" Olsen was so excited he could barely sit.

"It seems that when your plane was shot down and you were captured, you're best friend not only made it out of the plane alive, but wasn't captured. He was rescued by the underground and returned to England, where he rejoined the 504th continuing to bomb Germany until they rotated back home. He's still in the same bomber command working on their current assignment. Which according to that Boche Freitag has something to do with the secret Manhattan Project*, if he's to be believed," LeBeau said watching a true smile take over Olsen's face for the first time since he'd been injured.

"Woohoo! He's alive and home!" Olsen's excitement was loud making Hogan come out of his quarters to find out what was happening.

"How did you get London to give you the information?" Olsen asked, quickly explaining the news to Hogan.

"We have our moments," LeBeau answered nonchalantly.

"Congratulations, I'm glad to hear it," Hogan said happily watching Olsen's exuberant attitude. He gave LeBeau a look that said they'd discuss things later.

"I can't believe he's at home! That's just fantastic. Sir, do you think it would be all right if I wrote him a letter?" Olsen asked.

"That should be fine. Just make sure it doesn't say anything more than we're normal prisoners. We'll get it to England and they'll forward it along," Hogan said.

"Yes, sir," Olsen went over to his footlocker taking out pad and pen, then sitting down on his bunk composing his letter.

LeBeau wiped happy tears from his eyes being able to bring good news to Olsen lifting all their spirits. He began preparing the evening meal making sure it was special.

The bunk bed entrance clanged open, and Kinch's head popped up over the railing. "Colonel, Bluebird is on the radio asking to speak with you privately."

"Thanks. Make sure everyone stays topside until I return," Hogan ordered. He glanced one more time at Olsen who still had a large grin on his face. Then he climbed downstairs closing the entrance once he stepped off the ladder. Ensuring no one was around, he made his way to the radio hoping for more good news. He sat down at the radio picking up the headset, placing it on his head. "This is Papa Bear, go ahead."

"Papa Bear, this is Bluebird. I'm sorry, but I don't have good news for you."

Hogan's heart fell into his stomach hearing the words come over the set.

* * *

><p>*Episode – Two Nazis For The Price of One<p> 


	16. Zucchini Revealed

"Bad news is not what I want to hear," Hogan responded over the radio to Bluebird.

"Trust me, I understand. We were able to go inside and inspect the SS compound last night, and found the scientists working within the facility. However, they are French rocket scientists and not responsible for the atrocities happening around town. We are no closer to solving this dilemma," Bluebird sounded discouraged.

"This is unbelievable. Who is responsible?" Hogan shook his head in disbelief. "Were you able to check on Fraulein Herz?"

"Yes, I spoke with her personally this morning at her work and she's fine. I can see why Olsen would be smitten with her. She seems like a nice young woman. Although we're still no closer to identifying the murder victim," Bluebird said.

Hogan let out a deep sigh of relief, "Thank you. I owe you one for checking on her."

"Don't worry, I'll collect someday," Bluebird said with a mirthless smile. "Just wish we had a viable lead."

"Has the castle near the camp been checked? I understand electricity was recently connected to the place."

"Shortly after Olsen was injured, I went out there with some men. Thought because of the road empties out near where his abduction occurred that perchance it was being used as their base of operations. The family who owns it recently moved back to town from Frankfurt. By family, I mean the mother and four beautiful single daughters between seventeen and twenty two years old. Once your men discover who is there, your trouble will be dragging them back to camp," Bluebird said with a light chuckle.

Hogan laughed, "At least that's something I know how to handle. Oy, they may turn out to be more trouble than the culprits we're after. What's the next step in the investigation?"

"No one knows. We'll keep the company which came in last night here for now patrolling the area and hopefully we'll stumble upon something. Hochstetter said he'd happily accept help from anyone at this point. Any suggestions where to look next?"

"At a total loss myself. Not sure, your boss would be happy with my help. Check back if you're able in the morning, hopefully by then something will develop," Hogan said then signed off the radio. Completely frustrated no headway had been made, he paced the area between the ladder and the radio room. Where else could they look? He hated mysteries that couldn't be solved, and had a feeling this was one of those times an explanation wouldn't be forthcoming. With this news and all of Olsen's hard work, there was a good possibility of him being able to stay in camp instead of being sent home.

"When do we go after the truck, mon Colonel?" LeBeau asked as Hogan climbed over bed frame.

"We don't, the mission didn't produce the results we hoped for," Hogan said closing the entrance.

"What happened?" Olsen asked setting his letter down.

Hogan explained about the raid only turning up rocket scientists. Then he added, "This morning Fuchs had to go by the hospital on routine business and the nurse who helped him was Porscha. He says she's doing fine."

"That's great to hear. I hope he didn't scare her being Gestapo," Olsen said obviously relieved his girlfriend was safe.

"Doubt it. He knows how to treat a lady," Newkirk said putting an arm around Olsen's shoulders. "Why don't you come help me? I need a lookout while I gather LeBeau's supplies from the officers' mess."

"Sure," Olsen said following Newkirk out the building.

Hogan smiled as he walked into his room, pleased with the changes in Olsen. LeBeau followed closing the door behind them. "Mon Colonel, may I speak with you?"

"Sure, what's up?" he asked sitting down at the desk.

LeBeau hesitated for a moment gathering courage. "Why do you believe Doctor Prust, but you don't believe Olsen?"

Hogan crossed his arms observing LeBeau before answering. "Why do _you_ believe Olsen? Is it because it's Olsen, or do you believe what he says actually happened?"

LeBeau had to think about the question before answering, "A little of both perhaps. He's not prone to exaggerations. Had it been Pierre who came up with the story, I wouldn't have believed him. But this is Olsen."

"And how did they replace his arm? The Germans don't even have Penicillin."

"I don't know how. Until we find out who is responsible…."

Hogan cut him off. "And if we don't find out who's responsible then what? What happens to Olsen when he tries to tell that story to someone back in the States? Do you think anyone is going to believe him? What type of life will he have once he's been branded as crazy? Have you given some thought to that?"

"But he has to know…."

"No, what he has to do is accept that his memories were messed with and that his arm is his arm, here where it's safe with us. Once he's back out in the world, nobody will give him the benefit of the doubt. We may believe him, but no one else is going too. It's my responsibility to ensure he's able to recover and live the best life possible after this incident. Whatever that takes," Hogan's eyes were hard.

"So you believe him?" LeBeau was surprised.

"I believe the drugs have him confused."

"He doesn't remember them giving him any drugs."

"Olsen remembers waking up strapped to a table. He has no idea what they did to him while he was unconscious. The question is, are _you_ going to do what's best for Olsen or not?"

The look on Hogan's face told LeBeau that Hogan wasn't happy and there was only one answer he would accept. "Oui." The Colonel had brought up things he hadn't considered.

"Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"Non, I understand now," LeBeau said leaving the office, he had a lot to think over.

* * *

><p>On the spaceship orbiting high above the Earth, the lead physician completed his experiment upon test subject X19 turning to his assistant. "Send the body back down to the planet. I'm declaring this assessment over and a failure."<p>

"What will you tell command, sir?" Lieutenant Kabocha asked.

"This species is too fragile to be harvested. Ninety-Two out of one hundred test subjects died, which is the highest rate of demise in any species we've acquired. Normally only twenty to thirty percent die from the necessary tests. We examined multiple test subjects from every continent upon their planet with none resilient. Plus they show no communication abilities on an intelligent level; their vocal cords barely able to make coherent noises. They wouldn't make good slaves and would die quickly in the mines," Doctor Genovese chirped back to his underling. His voice sounded much like a common cricket's chirp.

"What do you want done with the remaining tissue samples?" Kabocha asked as they walked to the workbenches.

"Dispose of all except this appendage." The label read X48; subject four of the eighth experiment. "The species appendages are an interesting design and I'd like to study it more. This one is in the best condition," the doctor pointed to the vat of blue liquid which held Olsen's severed left arm.

"Since all the surviving test subjects had limbs replicated, should they be brought back and checked out before we leave this solar system?" Kabocha asked blinking his eyes vertically.

"I admire your concern for the beings, but it's not warranted. I seriously doubt they even remember being on-board our ship," the doctor said. His assistant looked confused. "Let me put it this way. Have you ever been fishing and thrown a fish back because it was too small?" The assistant nodded affirmatively. "You removed the hook from the fish's mouth and threw it back into the water. Do you worry the fish might feel pain or develop an infection from where the hook had been?"

"No, sir."

"Think of these beings the same way. Their brain is too small and they lack the mental capacity to understand what happened to them. Most likely, they don't remember being here, plus we did replace their limbs which by design would ensure no infection developed, so they wouldn't be handicapped. Although they're easy to repair and make replacement parts in case of accidents, they're just too fragile a species," the doctor said.

"I understand and will take care of cleaning the laboratory up."

"Meanwhile, I'll contact the commander and inform him, we'll be rendezvousing with the fleet in a few hours. Our work is complete here," Doctor Genovese chirped as he left the laboratory.

* * *

><p><strong>Four weeks later<strong>

General Thompson sat across the conference table from Undersecretary of War Robert Patterson*, "Sir, no more people have gone missing or died under mysterious conditions in Germany or England."

"The same can be said for the Pacific Theatre also, sir," Vice Admiral Thomas Dunn said sitting next to Thompson. The men were meeting in the middle of the night in a secured room in the Department of War in Washington, DC.

Patterson looked over at the last remaining occupant of the conference room. "It's the same for within the United States. All the mysterious injuries and deaths came to an end as eerily as they started," FBI Deputy Director Montgomery Rossi said.

"Do we have any idea who was behind these acts?" Patterson asked.

"Only theories and suppositions," Rossi said folding his hands on the tabletop.

"There is no way any Axis power could have conducted these experiments on our ships in the Pacific. We had men die with identical injuries on several ships that weren't in battle zones yet, as people dying in Eerie, Indiana, London, England, and Germany. Those theories and suppositions must be taken seriously!" Dunn slammed his hand against the table.

"Aliens?" Rossi said patronizingly.

"We know Germany has dabbled into space flight and sending up rockets since the 30's**. Perhaps they attracted unwanted attention. How else do you explain these incidents happening all over the world? Fifty-six people we know about have been killed with only four survivors. I've served with the Captains of the ships in the Pacific, and I can assure you that no Nazi sympathizers are aboard their ships. Those men were removed from the ships and returned after ghastly experimentation," Dunn yelled.

"What is your answer?" Thompson asked.

"I don't have an answer. However, I believe we should exhaust all Earthly possibilities before we look into science fiction," Rossi said.

"The fact that the same incidents occurred in Germany at the same time seems to indicate the Axis weren't the source. Our intelligence said the German High Command is as confused as we are," Thompson said.

"Gentlemen, let's review the facts. Were the survivors able to give us any useful information?" Patterson asked.

"No, sir, the survivors stories are all basically the same. They couldn't identify their abductors who wore masks and chirped like crickets instead of speaking," Thompson said.

"Obviously they were given hallucinogenic drugs," Rossi said. Dunn gave him a nasty look which should have done serious bodily harm.

"We need to come up with a contingency plan in case of an attack," Dunn insisted.

"Right now, our main focus must remain the Axis until they're defeated. My gut says no matter what our plans might be, if in fact Admiral Dunn is correct in his assessment, nothing we can do would prepare us for that battle," Patterson tried to be peacemaker between the men. As far-fetched as the idea sounded, there was no better logical explanation.

"We can't bury our heads in the sand and hope they don't come back," Thompson said.

"You're right, there's a group of scientists working on that currently, but its existence will be kept confidential for the time being***. Whether it's hysteria or practical steps to protect us from unknown attackers only time will tell. But one thing is certain; the Axis can't be allowed to develop space weapons and spacecraft without us having counter measures," Patterson said.

"Perhaps the survivors should all be brought here for my team to interrogate them fully," Rossi said causing the animosity to grow between the three men.

"I don't think that will be necessary, the Army and Navy have my full confidence in their ability to get to the truth from their men," Patterson said. "This is to remain top secret within all organizations."

Similar conversations were taking place in Berlin, Japan, and Russia.

* * *

><p>Six weeks had passed since the last abduction, and the mysterious experiments had completely stopped with no explanation leaving everyone baffled. The infantry company brought in by the Gestapo had been reassigned elsewhere, and the town was back to normal.<p>

Olsen walked down a neighborhood street in Hammelburg flexing his left arm. The pain and nausea had vanished several weeks ago, and now the arm was as strong as his right arm. Everyone thought he'd overcome the story he'd originally told about his left arm not being the arm he was born with, which was what he projected. Honestly, he still believed the arm that was being flexed wasn't his birth arm, but some type of replacement. How? He couldn't even begin to explain. All he knew was he'd never tell another living soul what he knew in his heart to be the truth about the arm. He'd worked hard to dispel the idea he'd lost his mind, and wouldn't do or say anything which might jeopardize the belief in his sanity.

The sound of crickets still caused panic to rise in his heart, but it was now manageable, and he'd been able to keep it from the men. No one noticed how his heart rate increased when the crickets started chirping. He kept focused on the goal of once again being the Outside Man and being with Porscha. He stopped at the front door to her house knocking. Porscha opened the door surprised and happy to see him, she threw her arms around his neck. Olsen wrapped both his arms around his lady kissing her passionately.

Finish

* * *

><p>AN: I must credit Chef Gordon Ramsey with the title of this story. I had the story planned and outlined, but couldn't come up with a good title until I watched his show Kitchen Nightmares episode El Greco S5 E10. While in an Italian restaurant, he was served a plate of stuffed zucchini which he said were terrible. He remarked someone would write a science fiction story called 'When Zucchini Attacks', with a race of beings attacking, which would actually be the stuffed zucchini on the plate attacking. The Zucchini are the aliens conducting the experiments in this story.

*www dot arlingtoncemetery dot net/robertpo dot htm

** In the 1930's Germany was convinced they could develop space rockets and space stations traveling to the Moon and Mars, so scientists fervently worked towards that goal. Source: Weird Weapons: The Axis

***During the late 1940s, the Department of Defense pursued research and rocketry and upper atmospheric sciences as a means of assuring American leadership in space technology. history dot nasa dot gov/factsheet dot htm


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